


Princess of Dawn - A Minerva Fanfiction

by Solrosfalt



Category: Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon
Genre: Active (updates may vary but at least one chapter per month), Angst with a Happy Ending, Corporal Punishment, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fantasy, Hi I'm Sol and my goal is to give Minerva a complete and rich story, Hostage Situations, Loss of Parent(s), Minor Character Death, NPCs Given Names and Personality for Novelization-purposes, No need to have played through Shadow Dragon to understand this, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Novelization, Slow Burn, There are Lots Of Words in this one but the chapters are fairly short, Trauma, Unresolved Romantic Tension, War, also in this one the First Dragon War was 1000 years ago and not 100, it's mostly people that get hurt in this story but animals get hurt too sometimes, not that it makes a difference in the story I just thought I'd mention it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2018-12-20 06:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 79
Words: 235,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11915025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solrosfalt/pseuds/Solrosfalt
Summary: The kingdom Princess Minerva was born into was one of harsh winds, endless skies and warm smiles.It taught her to be proud. It taught her to be unyielding.And, before it forgot how, it taught her what it meant to love. And how to fight for it.-    -     -     -   -    -    -  -    -This is part of a 200k+ fanfiction that will follow Minerva's story, beginning long before the events of Shadow Dragon.The characters mentioned in the tags are the ones that get most of the spotlight. Many of them have important roles, but the main focus is on Minerva, Maria, Palla, Catria and Est.(Graphic descriptions of violence does not apply until Chapter 7 and onward, kinda not even then. I do not write gore, but there is violence and it is described as such. I'm keeping the archive warning anyway, just to be sure.)Updates monthly(-ish). See tags.Edit (2018-09-06): Spaces between paragraphs has been changed to better fit the fanfiction-format





	1. Prologue

It was impossible to determine if the mighty whistling in the air was from the beating of wings or the strong airstream that tore at the tent canvases around the arena.  
  
“Ho ho.” King Osmond of Macedon purred with satisfaction as his coat whipped in the wind. His laughter was of the sort that travelled through his entire body and made his shoulders shake, even when it was nothing but a small chuckle.

“This weather is sure to give a challenge!” The king pulled some of his hair out of his face and smiled down at his young daughter, who waddled beside him. “Stay close, Minerva, dear.”  
  
Minerva did not need to be reminded twice. In her mind, to let go of her father’s hand equated a combination of getting lost, trampled and eaten by a wyvern. It was her first time out at the jousting tournaments and the rush of strangers around her was the biggest mass of people she’d seen in her entire life. Not that she saw much except their legs, but she knew they were very, very many.

When her mother had told her that ' _yes, sweetie, it is about time you get to see the knights fight_ ' Minerva had been thrilled. The days until the festival couldn't move quickly enough. Minerva would get to see the sky knights, finally _see_ them, as they clashed beneath the clouds and propelled through the air the way her brother had told her they did. She'd only seen them circling the towers on guard duty, and if  _that_ was something she could watch for hours on end, how amazing wouldn't _jousting_ be?

And so, Minerva had expected to see every fantastical manoeuvre her imagination had constructed for her the moment they reached the arena - but so far, except for the occasional wyvern or Pegasus soaring above their heads, she saw little else than her father’s face occasionally smiling down at her in the sea of backs and feet. Though, if she looked right ahead, she'd stare right into her brother's back. The sea of people felt much safer with him leading the way - not that she'd ever admit that to him.  
  
“Now, Michalis, make sure you have Gallius under control”, Minerva overheard her father say, as the King leaned forward to give her brother with a pat on his shoulder. ”A wind like this is bound to make any flying beast eager and jumpy.”

Her brother was dressed in the traditional red under his armor, and wore a helmet in the shape of a dragon’s head. He was going to be the first thing the crowd would get to marvel at on the arena, and that had Minerva almost burst with pride.

Michalis did not seem to share her excitement; he shrugged their father’s hand off his shoulder without looking at him.

  
The soldiers that had been marching behind them had begun to form a circle around the incomplete royal family, and were gently pushing people out of the way.  
So, they had arrived at their destination. Minerva was relieved by the sight of the elevated terrace reserved for royalty.

Minerva was too short to be able to climb to the first ladder step, had to be lifted by one of the guards. Her hands found the ladder, clung to it instinctively. She'd climbed ladders before, of course, but never one this high.

Michalis spared her a quick glance. It was refreshing for Minerva to meet his gaze at eye level, even have him bend his neck to look up at her.

He cocked his head and smiled at her.  
“Don’t faint of fright when the wyverns show, little sister”, he said before he disappeared in the masses towards the stables, where his wyvern Gallius stood saddled and ready.  
  
“I don’t faint!” Minerva yelled back after him, and grappled the handles of the ladder harder. She was determined to not lose sight of him, and started climbing higher to get a better view.  
  
“Be careful, Minerva darling!” her father called after her, but she ignored him. Now that she was free of the endless prison of strangers pushing at each other and rushing to their seats, her nervousness was gone. The ladder took her higher and higher.

Why should she fear heights? She had joined her mother on her Pegasus countless times. Minerva never felt more at home than when the ground was far below her.  
  
The rest of the arena’s seats didn’t even come halfway to that of the king’s watchtower. The hard wind made the wood groan, tore at Minerva’s hair and skin.

“Minerva! Careful!”

She didn’t listen; she crawled up on the open platform at the top of the tower. Surrounded by nothing but a transparent fence, she could see the entire arena, even all the way to the castle.  
  
“Honorable citizens of Macedon!”

The first councillor’s voice, amplified by magic, could be heard all over the arena.

“The harvest festival’s jousting tournament shall hereby be pronounced, in our blessed King Osmond’s name!”  
  
Said king had barely had time to crawl up on the platform himself, but scrambled to his feet just as the crowd’s thousand eyes turned to his elevated seat of honor. He smiled and waved. In her excitement, Minerva hadn’t listened to what her father instructed of her to do as to greet the crowd. She became uncomfortably aware of every pair of eyes, knew they expected her to acknowledge them somehow. Unsure, she improvised something she thought looked like a salute she’d seen the knights do once. Whatever the knights did couldn’t be wrong, could it?  
  
“Beloved people”, her father begun, now having had time to catch his breath and amplify his own voice. The crowd fell instantly silent. “I am eternally thankful to have the privilege of seeing another bountiful harvest take place – no Macedonan shall ever go hungry thanks to each and every one of you. I vow to carry out my own tasks with humble justice, to not have your hard work be unrewarded. Macedon would be nothing but a patch of land, and I nothing but a man with a crown, if it weren’t for your unyielding efforts. I don’t know about you, but I think your success is a cause worth celebrating! I hereby pronounce; the festival has begun! Let the opening ceremony make your hearts take flight – please welcome our young Lord, Prince Michalis!”

The crowd gave a wild cheer as their young prince spiralled up towards the sky on his equally young wyvern, followed by four pegasi with gray-clad knights.  
This was Michalis’ moment, and he was truly shining brightly as the sun reflected in his red-tinted armor. He looked completely carefree as he swept with Gallius and his followers with flawless precision. As the pompous music hit its climax, he extended a red flag. Symbol of every Macedonan’s pride and joy.  
  
The sky rumbled from the ecstasy of thousands. Minerva held on to the railing and leaned forward, ignoring her father’s worried grip on her tunic to keep her upright. Maybe she imagined it, but she thought she saw Michalis smile broadly at her. Not a teasing face, but a smile.

 _I dare you to do better _,__ he seemed to say.

Minerva beamed back at him.


	2. Little Savage

Years passed before Michalis smiled directly at Minerva again.

He found the book of Archanean history he’d been reading in Minerva’s lap, as she’d fallen asleep over it. He bent down and gently poked her hand. As Minerva blinked awake, she saw him smile.

  
“I wasn’t finished with that. Wait for your turn, silly.”

Minerva shut the book, looked anywhere but on her brother as she handed it over.

“Aren’t the words too big for you to understand in this one?” Michalis asked, fingers brushing the pages. “Stick to your light Macedonan history, it's more appropriate for a child.”

Minerva blew up her cheeks. “No! I understand tons!”

Michalis chuckled. “Is that why you used it as a pillow?”

A flush heated her face, and she rose. “It was so easy, I fell asleep!”

“Oh, I'm sure. I’ll see you at sword practice, I assume. Try to copy my stances with a little more grace this time.”

Minerva’s head jerked back. She thought she'd been discreet. But of course he’d know about it. Michalis knew everything.  
She put her hands behind her back and straightened, refused to show him he’d surprised her.

“Copying?” she retorted. “I was improving them.”

 

\---

 

Being born a princess, Minerva had learned of responsibility since the day she could understand speech. It could have been a burden, but why would she be frightened when Michalis did his every duty so flawlessly? If he could do it, of course she could, too.  
Perhaps she wasn't so quick to read, and perhaps she forgot the names of her fellow nobles a bit too often, but she wouldn't give up. Michalis always watched her, sometimes with brows raised, sometimes hiding half his face behind his hand, but for every rare encouraging look she got from him, it doubled her will to try harder. After the birth of another princess in the household, Minerva sensed all the more importance to keep learning.

Though, everything was different as soon as her hands grasped the hilt of a sword. She was used to struggling, but the sword was simple. Just a whisper and her body responded, exactly as she wanted it to. She gained on Michalis almost effortlessly. There was nothing that could make her stop, and as Michalis gave her his first look of approval rather than embarrassment, she knew she'd found her calling.

Only a year passed before she advanced to the next level in sword arts. The weapons master and private tutor of the royal children went so far as to call her the ' _most lethal eight-year-old on the continent_ ', which had Minerva almost burst of pride.

She practiced the sword whenever she had time to spare. Most of the time she was alone, but when the queen had begun to take walks with the new princess Maria outside of the castle, Minerva would always insist that they passed by at the training grounds. Minerva wished her baby sister to see the basic principles of swordplay at an early age, which to her was the greatest gift anyone could give. That, and also because she didn’t want to choose between slicing at training logs and playing peek-a-boo with the shining toddler Minerva already saw as a friend.

Family time was usually scarce, but the midday meal was something they always tried to enjoy together. Michalis usually just threw the food into his mouth and left, not particularly interested in sharing stories with his parents or siblings. Minerva did feel stung by that, but he always patted her on the shoulder before he left, like a sign of appreciation.

 _You’re alright_ , it seemed to say. Which was fantastic praise, coming from Michalis.

 

It was during one of those family dinners that Minerva spoke her mind.

“Father, I think I’d like to be a mercenary.”

Michalis was about to rise, but froze.

King Osmond responded with the expected royal grace by sputtering elderberry juice all over the table.

“Ewww”, Maria giggled at her father.

Their mother giggled along and handed her husband a napkin, before she rested her head in her hand.

“It’s an honorable goal, dear”, the queen said and smiled at Minerva. “I loved that life.”

The king wiped his face and cast a worried glance at his wife. “Fridh, don’t encourage her.”

Fridh winked at Minerva, added: “But I wasn’t a princess when I was young. I’m afraid you’ll have to aspire to something else. How about a captain, or general – the one to lead all mercenaries? That’s a great thing too.”

Minerva put away her spoon. She hadn’t thought about such a possibility. It didn’t sound so bad. As long as she got to have her sword.

“You’re going to need a lot more ambition if you’re going to pull that off, little savage.” Michalis patted Minerva on the head this time, before exiting.

Minerva looked down at her hands in her lap.

Well. She had never lacked ambition, always striving to reach Michalis standards.  
All it needed was a direction.

\---

When another year had passed, Minerva was surprised to see that Michalis wasn’t at sword practice.  
She went to look for him, and found him in his study.

  
When she asked him why he hadn’t shown, he sniffed and turned a page.

“The sword doesn’t please me anymore”, he said dismissively. “Sword art is just a stepping stone toward greater skills. There are other much more powerful weapons to master.”

Minerva was stopped dead in her tracks. _Greater skills?_ What was that about?

She sniffed back at him and jogged to the practice grounds.

Of course there were other weapons, and Minerva couldn’t possibly fall behind her brother in that regard. Fighting was _hers_ to outshine _him_ with.

Thus, later the same day, one ten-year-old princess stood tall opposite her master, and refused to raise her sword.

“I wish to learn a new skill”, she demanded.

If master Pilas was amused by Minerva's sudden turn, he did not show it. “We have plenty of new sword skills to master, you and I.”

Minerva shook her head. “The sword doesn’t please me anymore.”

It wasn’t without pride that her master showed her to the weapons chamber.

“Your brother wished to see this place a few weeks ago”, he told her. “Regrettably, our young highness didn’t find any of the items satisfactory. Though I hope you can find something to your liking, little princess.”

Minerva eyed the room. There were plenty of lances, swords and axes, even halberds and javelins, in everything from iron to purest silver. Her eyes did not settle until they met a clumsy pile of maces. She picked one up, measured its weight with both her hands. She then tried holding it in one hand, and failed. The impact when the giant spire of iron hit the ground was like a thunderclap, and Minerva’s eyes went wide.

“This”, she said and turned to the master with the mace in both hands. “I want this!”

Her master was a gentle soul, and did not protest. Minerva spent the following two years learning the way of the mace. It was vastly different from the sword – there wasn’t any honorable grace and no elongation of her reach – rather an extension of her muscles. The mace did not need any grace; all it needed was bones to crush. Barbaric, and absolutely wonderful.

 

She combined her practice of the mace with learning to control a Pegasus.  
Her mother Fridh was after all an accomplished Sky Knight, most eager to see her daughter conquer the heavens as she herself once had. Minerva didn’t mind that. The sky already felt like home to her, and she loved her mother’s Pegasus Tyra. When she was younger, Minerva had risen early most mornings just to brush the animal and snuggle with her; but as it was time for a Pegasus to become a comrade in arms rather than a pet, that joy became a hassle. Since Minerva didn’t want to be disappointing in any aspect, she had become a mediocre Pegasus rider, though she never quite connected to that calling.

It was still early morning and Minerva was drenched in her own sweat, her developing joints aching from attempting to drag her Pegasus to the front of the practice-dummies put up in a row, mimicking a marching army. The animal would do sudden jumps and twirls, as if trying to disorient the practice-dummy-enemy, but it put Minerva off and her mace mostly just whooshed through the air, making the Pegasus even more jumpy from the sudden weight shift. Although unwilling to give up, Minerva finally admitted she needed a break, and she landed beside her mother.

Queen Fridh, known for being so carefree, was actually _frowning_ as Minerva joined her side.

“Oh dear”, she began. “You’re not making much progress like this, sweetie.”

“Yes, mother. I agree.” Minerva dismounted and dragged both her hands up her own face, finishing with pulling off the headband she always wore to keep the hair out of her eyes. She smacked the fabric. It was quite damp.

“Do you see what your problem is?”

Minerva smacked the headband again. “They don’t follow my command. I’ve tried everything by now, but I think they just hate me.”

Fridh put her arm around Minerva’s shoulders, giving her half a hug. “They don’t hate you, sweetie. What every Pegasus knight has to learn eventually is to trust the animal’s instincts. They’re very intelligent. They know how to avoid being hit – but to learn to trust takes even the most accomplished rider years and years. You’re already good on a technical level, but you seem to want to fight your mount. None of you can trust each other that way.”

“And what about _my_ instinct, mother?” Minerva bristled. “I know what I want to do at the front lines, I know I can do it – but I _can’t_ when the bloody animal – sorry, Tyra – dashes away because it got scared by a sun flare!”

“They are right to be wary, Minerva. A battlefront is a dangerous place. A Sky Knight does best by attacking from a distance, then immediately fleeing any counterattacks.”

“Mother, I know this. But I don’t flee. I _never_ flee!”

Fridh sighed, regarding her daughter in thoughtful silence.

“It’s always a bit strange for a mother to realize her child has a path of their own”, she said finally, smiling weakly. “We’ve both been too stubborn, I think. I wanted to be the one to teach you all about being a Sky Knight, but I’d just be holding you back.”

Minerva put her headband on again. It felt cold, and gross, just like the inside of her throat. “Are you disappointed in me?”

“Sweetie, absolutely not. I’m a bit disappointed in myself, actually, for not accepting your incompatibility with pegasi sooner. I’ve been quite dull.”

Minerva was about to disagree, but her mother spoke before her. “How about we take a short trip by the Royal Wyvern Breeders before the midday meal?”

 

That was when Minerva met Titania.  
She was no more than a wyvern hatchling, but Titania was ferocious. As Minerva was led before her, the wyvern greeted her by bashing her head into her face. It hurt for a moment, but soon turned into a mere ache over her nose.

“If that’s the best you can do, it’s embarrassing”, Minerva said, keeping her face against the wyvern’s. She twisted her head and found an eye, stared straight into it.  
Titania growled, arched her neck. She squinted at Minerva, and Minerva squinted back.

It was the wyvern who finally took a step back, turning to the side. Presenting the saddle the breeders had prepared for her.

“Thank you for the warm welcome”, Minerva smiled and wiped her bleeding upper lip, mounted in one swift moment. The saddle felt different from what she was used to, broader and with more freedom over the knees.

“Minerva, don’t forget what the breeders instructed of you”, her mother yelled down from the edge of the enclosure. Her voice was worried.

Minerva waved back with a reassuring smile, then leaned forward over the wyverns neck.

“Let’s see what you’re capable of, face-basher.”

They took off, the familiar surge in Minerva’s stomach as the ground disappeared far below. Then she tested all commands she knew, heeding every whim of her instincts, and the two of them cut through the air. Titania was fearless in the face of difficult dives and vicious in every turn, but despite this, she listened. Shouting to a wyvern was useless since the airspeed killed all sound, but Titania glanced back at Minerva every now and then, and when their two red eyes met, Minerva was sure they both understood each other. Titania responded; a mountain of cruel muscle and claws _responded_ to her commands.

Their first flight ended with a combined yell of euphoria from Minerva and a deafening roar in agreement from Titania.

Minerva never sat on a Pegasus again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minerva’s wyvern has no canonical name, so I had to name her. I considered “Cherche” just as a play on Cherche’s wyvern being called Minerva, but it didn’t feel right. It rings a bit French, and nothing else in Macedon does, so, uh, I went for a more harsh-sounding approach, I guess. And because I love Titania in Path of Radiance and Radiant Dawn as well. It fits.  
> Also, just pointing out that I am aware that a wyvern has two legs, but since they're more like four-legged mini-dragons in the animated sprites in Shadow Dragon, I'm going with that.


	3. The shape of an Axe

The young princess Maria celebrated her third nameday as the winter’s first snow fell. She happily munched on her mulberry cake beside Minerva and her mother, regarding the snowflakes through the great hall’s glass window in silence. She still didn’t speak much, despite her age, but the healers in the castle assured them that nothing was wrong with her.

 _Of course not_ , Minerva thought _. She’s perfectly glorious – what could possibly be at fault?_

Just as it crossed her mind, Maria put her mulberry-stained hand on Minerva’s newly polished pauldron with a wide smile. It left greasy, purple stains on the metal - not for the first time. Minerva didn't mind. That was how Maria ' _talked_ '; and she was too little to understand that she made messes. Not that it mattered much - messes could be cleaned up. Minerva took her hand and carefully lifted it away, giving it a small squeeze before she pushed her own chair back.

“Sorry, little candle.” Minerva arose and wiped her own stained fingers on her napkin. “I can’t play with you; I gotta train, and it’s too cold for you to be out and join me.” She gave her sister a quick kiss on top of her head. “Happy nameday.”

With a smile at their mother, she departed.

 

Master Pilas awaited her on the training grounds, performing his breathing practice. Or perhaps he was frozen solid. He was so still, snow had assembled in a heap on his head. He was alive, though; his eyes opened as Minerva closed in on him,  and he welcomed her with a bow.

“Perfect weather for practice, wouldn’t you say, your highness?”

Minerva’s lips tipped upwards into a crooked smile as she drew her mace. Though something wasn’t right. Master Pilas was unarmed. She placed the spire of the mace in the snow, tilting her head.

“Little lethal princess”, her master said. “This training session will not be like your last. I have judged you capable to enlist in junior knighthood, should you wish to.”

Minerva’s heart skipped a beat. “I _do_ wish to!”

Master Pilas smiled wide and brushed some of the snow out of his hair. “I expected no less. Though, I beg of you to... Reconsider your choice of weapon before then. The mace is but a tool for new recruits to build muscle. It is never used in a real battle. As a knight, you need to be properly trained. Please, come with me.”

Minerva did not protest. Why would it matter if she left the mace behind – she’d be a _knight_! She followed him to the weapon chambers once again, and was struck by the notion that she had no clue what her brother was doing. She had been so occupied in her own she had forgotten how she’d longed to surpass him.

She stepped inside the chamber and weighed an iron lance in her hand, but that she had done many times before and it had never been to her liking. Too long. Too imprecise.

She dismissed the throwing knives and bow before even touching them, but stopped by the axes for a moment. She picked up one with a blade of solid steel – something she could have sworn had been too heavy for her – and took an experimental jab at one of the practice logs in the room. The blade bore deep into the wood, but she found that she could get it loose with ease, and follow up with another, devastating blow in the height of a man’s skull. The axe was a lone dancer in her hand, swift and graceful, brutal and deadly. The blow was that of a mace, but it cut through the air like a sword. She stroked the edge with fascinated care. She turned to master Pilas.

“Is it to your liking?”

“Yes”, she smiled. “It’s perfect.”

Pilas chuckled and closed the door behind them. “Let’s get back to the training grounds. The other juniors better watch themselves. They’ll have an axe-princess in their ranks, soon.”

\---

“These are throwing axes”, Minerva said, crouching by Maria who sat on one of the frost-covered logs that surrounded the training grounds. The toddler seemed more interested in the snow landing on her many layers of furs, poking at it and watching in open-mouthed awe as it melted.

That was how Minerva’s training sessions with Maria usually went by, but Minerva didn’t falter. She wanted a new sparring partner, and hadn’t lost hope that Maria would one day fulfill that role.

“Throwing axes don’t pack as much of a punch as my new battleaxe or my old mace”, Minerva continued, and this time Maria actually looked at the shining surface of the throwing axe for a moment. Then she looked back on the snow and put both her hands straight into a heap of it, chuckling slightly.

“But they’re useful anyway, you know?” Minerva continued, looking over at the target logs standing further away. “I might not be able to kill a threat from afar with it, but stagger it for long enough for them to either surrender or be open for a hit with my axe. Master Pilas said it’s vital to learn to aim with these alongside learning the ways of the axe. Perhaps you’ll like the axe too. I hope so. One day.”

Minerva checked that Maria was sitting safe behind her before she shucked the small axe into one of the targets. It burrowed deep into the wood, far from the center.

“Don’t focus so much on force, work on your aim. Bring your elbow no higher than your shoulder and let your wrist do the rest.”

Minerva turned around. Michalis stood at the end of the courtyard, arms crossed.

She picked up another throwing axe and cocked her head. “How would you know such things, brother?”

“No need for that tone, little sister”, Michalis said as he walked closer. “I may not wield the axe myself, but I've researched everything about every weapon. The principles are similar. And I’ve seen you succeed and fail enough times to spot details now.”

Minerva frowned, but turned around to do what Michalis had suggested, and this time, the axe burrowed into the wood exactly where she wanted it to. She put her hands on her hips, and smiled at Michalis.

He gave her an uncertain look, as if he was about to smile back but changed his mind last second. Instead he shrugged and turned his eyes on Maria.

“Why do you bring _her_ to your training sessions?” he sighed. “She doesn’t understand anything you’re saying. You know that, right?”

Minerva threw another axe, only half looking. It bounced off the wood and fell down in the dirt around it.

“Perhaps she understands more than she lets on”, she answered him and looked down on their baby sister as well. Maria sucked on a dirty fist, and bent her head back to look at Michalis with big, round eyes. She smiled, fist still in her mouth, and then raised both her arms toward him, almost falling over in her many furs.

“Afa”, she said. That was her word for father, and occasionally everyone else she fancied being picked up by. Minerva had been called ‘ _Afa_ ’, but nowadays she was mostly referred to as ' _Mmm-mmi_ '. Minerva was just as proud every time.

Michalis stood frozen for a moment, eyes locked on Maria with something flickering in his eyes. Surprise? Disgust? Fear? It went by too quickly for Minerva to tell, and he enclosed whatever it was by crossing his arms again.

“She thinks I’m papa.”

“No, she says that when she wants hugs”, Minerva answered, putting the rest of her throwing axes in a basket near the pole that measured out the distance to the hitting target.

Michalis blinked, and this time, Minerva could tell he was surprised. “I’m... Tell her, ‘ _no thank you_ ’ for me.”

“Tell her yourself”, Minerva said, trying her best to match his harsh tone. Michalis snorted and turned away.

“I’m too clever to speak Toddler. Embrace your talents, Minerva.”

With that, he left, leaving a Maria with a face wrinkled of confused sadness. Minerva tried to figure out what Michalis had meant, but was interrupted by a “Mmm-mmiii” from below, Maria pulling at her pant-leg.

She put her arms around her little sister, carefully but firmly, and hoisted her into her arms. She started walking home, feeling done for the day. Her will to practice had turned sour; she might as well take an afternoon off.

She saw Maria’s head follow Michalis as he walked out of sight, and she uttered a confused sound, a whimper of dissapointment.

“Yes, that’s how Michalis is”, Minerva told her. “Don’t worry, I know he likes you. He’s just pretty bad at hugs."


	4. A Mercenary's End

Queen Fridh had a cold that wouldn’t go away.

The healing master Talia asked her to rest to avoid growing sicker, but despite that, one day the Queen was floored by a violent lung infection. Her lungs had grown sensitive from the constant cold, and the healers did what they could. But she never recovered. She spent weeks in bed. Her strong muscles withered away, once proudly swinging a sword now having difficulty in lifting a spoon.

Maria’s fourth nameday passed, and they celebrated it solemnly by the fireplace in Fridh’s quarters.

By the fifth week, Minerva was called to join her father by the queen’s bed.

She walked in with Maria’s hand in hers. The master healer was in the room, her eyes closed and her forehead touched the tip of her healing spire. A deep frown twitched over her face. Minerva guessed by the refreshing feel in the room that the master was busy casting a healing spell, although it didn’t seem to do much, since her mother’s face was still pale as a ghost.

King Osmond looked up, and wiped his beard free of the tears that had settled there like dew.

“Children”, he greeted. His voice thick. Minerva let go of Maria’s hand, and the child walked to the bedside to peer up at their mother.

“Where’s your brother?” the king asked. Minerva only shrugged and joined Maria by their mother’s side.

“He should be here. Michalis should be here.” King Osmond got to his feet. “I’m going to find him.”

“Let him grieve in his own way”, Queen Fridh mumbled, still with eyes closed. The king gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and exited the room.

The queen's face turned sorrowful for a moment, before she opened her eyes and looked at her daughters.

“Hello, sweeties.”

The healing master put her spire away, hanging her head with an exhausted sigh. Queen Fridh cast a glance at the healer and smiled weakly, before her eyes turned back to Minerva.

“I’m glad you’re here. Do you know why your father called you?”

“He said you’re going to die.”

“Yes, Minerva. I’m very sorry.”

Minerva’s throat clogged. Why was she apologizing? Adults were so strange at times.

Maria crawled up and lay down beside Fridh. The healing master let out a small gasp and leaned over the bed’s headboard, tried to restrain Maria. “Don’t climb on your mother, little dear!”

“No, Talia, it’s fine. I want her here.”

Maria hummed innocently, too young to be aware of the weight of the situation. She simply placed a hand on her mother’s cheek like she had so many times before. The queen drew a content sigh as some of the color returned to her face, Maria’s hand at the center.

Talia uttered a gasp. “That’s— That’s Earth Magic – healing magic. Your majesty, your daughter is gifted!”

“Hmm”, was all Fridh had the energy to say, still smiling.

Maria sucked on her fingers and looked at the people around her.

“Mother”, Minerva whispered, “is there room for me too?”

The queen moved her arm as an invitation. “Of course, sweetie.”

Minerva lay down with her head on her mother’s arm, listening to her breathing. Minerva hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but as the hours passed her eyelids grew heavy.

 

When she awoke, her mother’s arm was cold, and her father cried by the bed. She tried to get his attention, wanted him to stop crying because it was scary, and strange. She'd never seen him cry in such a way before. ' _Dad_ ', she said, but she got no reaction.

 

It was only later that she was told that Michalis had never shown.


	5. Graywings

The death of the queen lay like a blanket over their father’s eyes for years to come.  
There was an air of emptiness all over the castle, and that emptiness spread to Minerva, pain like a needle in her heart every time she mistook shapes in the hallway for a mother gone. But in some ways, that very same pain narrowed her focus. Her father tried so very hard to be every bit as effective as he’d been before, despite it all. She should too.  
She should still dream.

When she wasn’t at the knight academy, she’d be in the courtyard, hacking away at practicing logs, or soaring freely with Titania. She drilled every movement they could do in the air into her mind by repeating it over and over and over. Master Pilas was no flier, so she did those extra sessions on her own. Or with Maria. She’d sit tucked safely between Minerva and the front of the saddle, and Minerva would control the bridle with one hand to hold on to Maria with the other. She could feel her tiny heart hammering, but her squeals were full of delight. Minerva did not try anything dangerous with Maria there, and perhaps she missed out on valuable practicing time, but it was worth that small sacrifice to gain the sound of her sister’s laughter.

Maria still didn’t speak much, but more than ever, Minerva saw how much the child noticed. Maria would, when their father had one of his few spare hours, walk with him almost anywhere. She’d see his shadow move in one of the windows, and practically pull Minerva away from the training grounds so that they could go find him. When they did, Maria would hold his hand, point at every pretty thing she saw, only to look up at him and Minerva to see their response. The king did not react the first few months, but after some time, he’d start nodding and say something vague such as “yes dear, that sure is... a cloud”. But when the months became years, the king began to smile again.  
He laughed and celebrated as Michalis became a knight of Macedon; he even named a jousting competition in his son’s honor and held a speech to let the entire nation know the extent of his pride.

Half a year later, it was Minerva’s turn to graduate from senior knighthood, on the same day as her thirteenth nameday. The king honored her as he had Michalis, but Minerva believed she caught a look of jealousy on her brother’s face that day. Although she figured she’d imagined it. Why would he be anything but happy for her sake? She’d reached her dream, pride soaring in her chest.  
She was finally able to joust, finally able to serve her father to protect their people.  
Perhaps that was what bothered Michalis. He’d never been happy with competition, but he’d always been there to encourage her at the most unexpected of times - a smile here, an instruction there. Surely, he didn’t think of her in an unfriendly way?  
She shrugged it off.  
This was her day. She should enjoy it as such.

Her graduation ceremony was officially over the day after the king’s celebration. All graduates were made to stand in a row on the academy’s duelling stage. One by one they received the thin iron ring that signified the knight’s trade. As it was over and the final vow was made, Minerva ran to a six-year-old (and quite bored) Maria in the seat of honor, putting both her hands on the wooden railing to shout _I am a knight,_  to let her share in her happiness.  
Maria smiled.

“Congratulations”, she said. Her voice was warm. “Healing Master Talia told me to extend her encouragements to you as well, and is sorry she cannot attend in person. She was needed in the infirmary.”

Maria had begun using more coherent words over the years, before she over the course of only a few months would speak like any adult could. Which was just how some children learned, the healers had said.

Minerva rested her chin on the railing. “Thanks for being here, though I’m sorry it collided with your healing studies.”

“This was more important”, Maria said as she pushed the wicket to the seat of honor open. “You don’t graduate things every day!”

“ _Especially_ not you“, Michalis muttered to that. He was sitting in his own seat, one finger impatiently ticking against the armrest. Minerva only raised a brow at that, she couldn’t think of any response before the King leaned over to rustle Minerva’s hair, and then decided to give her half a hug as well. His face beamed.

“I’m so proud, _so_ proud”, he mumbled, before he let go. “Now, we should be going back. The castle should not be left unattended for too long.”

Minerva nodded, feeling Maria’s hand clasp hers. She cast a glance over the crowd. A part of them, but separate, still.

The rest of the senior graduates walked away one big group of friends. They laughed and dragged each other into rowdy embraces, talking loudly and incoherently. None looked back on Minerva.

She hadn’t been allowed to sleep and eat in the barracks, and she hadn’t had any interest in forming any bonds with either of her fellow students. She was much too busy, and she had Maria who walked with her, chatted with her about healing theory, and joined her on flights down to the lake to bathe in the light of dawn. She had been fine with just watching her fellow greenies as they stumbled with swords and petted their mounts. But somehow it still stung to see the entire batch of students connected as a group, and her outside of it.

 

Perhaps that was why she was so quick to accept her master’s proposition the following day. Apparently, she had the need for a private guard whenever she ventured outside as a knight – no royal would make themselves so much of a target as to venture alone or with strangers. She sometimes despised being so sheltered, but the idea of having a few close knights as her own was tempting.

Her master preferred that she took two horsemen he had personally chosen, but Minerva refused them immediately.

She needed someone who could fly, as she did. Someone who could understand any subtle order made from the back of a wyvern during roaring airspeeds.

“Assemble all willing Sky knights from the latest graduated”, she ordered him. “If I must, I shall at least get to hand-pick them myself.”

 

Her master did as she said, and it was only a few weeks later that she stood on the training grounds on a harsh autumn morning.  
Rain prickled cold and hard against her cheeks and made clinking noises against her armor.

The first recruit that stood before Minerva was much more lightly armored than her, a sure mark of a Pegasus knight. She wore only a pauldron and a breastplate over her chainmail and linen tunic, goose bumps on her wrists from the cold. Her hair, the unusual color of moss green, was weaved in a braid and flung behind her back. She held the reins of a young Pegasus stallion, green bands braided into his mane and tail.

“Your Highness” the knight began to introduce herself, “I am Palla Graywing, Pegasus Knight of the second division.” Her voice was warm, like Maria’s, but there was a glint of iron in her eyes.

Minerva smiled and lifted her own chin. “I trust you know why we are here, Palla Graywing.”

Palla saluted her by placing her open palm over her heart. She seemed a bit flustered, though Minerva could have imagined it.

“I do, your highness.”

“Perfect. Let’s see if the second division delivers then!” Minerva mounted Titania with a rush of hot energy. The thought of flying through a torrent of hard rain never failed to make her blood soar in a calculated, cold joy. She loved the idea of battle, she loved the wind and harsh nature of the sky – some mad part of her loved it more the more unforgiving the climate was. She felt stronger for it.

The rain combined with her just as euphoric wyvern made her attempt the more difficult formations and movements, perhaps with just a little bit of glee towards her fellow knight. Although, had she noticed she was being cruel with her difficulty, she would have gone easier – but her comrade both noticed and followed her orders and performed them with grace. Part of it could be because a Pegasus was inherently more agile than a wyvern – the equivalent of a butterfly with quick, dashing movements. But it was no easy task none the less, and this knight never missed a single turn. Her movements were seamless, natural.

As they landed, Minerva had no words. The sweat had turned cold on her brow, her face flushed from being whipped by the icy rain.  
“Well done, Palla of the second division”, was all she could think of saying. The other knight smiled and saluted her from the back of her Pegasus. She was pretty flushed from the cold as well, but the glint in her eye told Minerva that she could have gone on for much longer. A light of approval ignited inside her.

 

That light only brightened as the days went past and no other knight had performed quite as well as that Palla had. No one else became memorable enough, until on the final day, a girl of small statue stood beside her Pegasus with the determined face of a child making one of its first own decisions.  
The weather was much more merciful that day, and the sun stroked the girl’s face and made her sapphire hair shimmer almost metallically.  
Macedonans usually had darker or redder hair and skin. Colorful variations were much more commonplace in the north, so Minerva guessed the girl was of mixed heritage. That in itself was not rare, almost a third of the Macedonan knights that had applied to serve as Minerva’s guard had colorful hair, the noted Palla being one of them. It was rather the young age of the girl that set her apart.

“Greetings”, the girl said with somewhat of a country accent. “I am Catria, and I will fly Mara.” She petted the Pegasus, and her cheeks reddened as she added _“your highesty – I mean your highness” ._

Minerva smiled. “Greetings yourself, Catria. I am Minerva, and I will fly Titania.” She stroked the head of the wyvern behind her, who let out a pleased growl. “Pardon me asking, but are you sure you are a knight?”

The girl couldn’t have been more than twelve, and her fingers lacked an iron ring. Her cheeks flushed even more. “I am!” The lie twitched on her face before she added: “Tomorrow.”

Weighing her options, Minerva finally shrugged. The girl had shown up, after all. She mounted Titania and gestured Catria to do the same.

“Well then, young Catria, let’s see the fruit of your studies so far, then.”

Titania dashed, leaving thick claw-marks on the ground as she kicked upwards. Minerva did not intend to show any mercy to this recruit because she was a child, she did the same routine she had done with Palla and every other knight before this one.

To her surprise, she found the girl remarkable. She was somewhat clumsy, but her turns were clean cut and she never missed a beat of Minerva’s orders. Nothing was perfect the way Palla’s performance had been, but not too far off. Considering her age, she was more impressive than any of the previous contestants.

“I say, Catria”, Minerva mused as they dismounted. “You show great potential.”

The girl beamed and bowed at her. “Thanks, your grace!”

As the child left, Minerva knew there wasn’t much of a contest.

\---

The final test of a recruit had been done, and Minerva was just as sure about her decisions as she had been weeks ago.  
Her master Pilas was pleased to find her chosen ones for her, but returned later in the day with a frown on his face.

“Young princess”, he said and twisted his beard (always a sure sign of trouble). “Palla Graywing waits for you in the guest quarters in the west wing. But there was no Catria in the soldier barracks, or in the junior knight’s class – and there never has been. I am sorry your highness, but nobody knows anyone of that name. You sure you can’t remember her last name?”

Minerva’s spirit sank. “I regret to inform you that I don’t think she ever told me.”

The weapon’s master pushed his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “Go”, he said. “Meet with your knight. I will ask around some more, but if she remains missing, you will have to settle for someone else.”

“Not going to happen. Her or no one.” She’d sounded harsher than she’d meant to, and added: “I trust you can find her for me, master. And if you can’t, I will.”

She made her way to the west wing, opening the door to the guest chamber with a frown on her face. Although seeing the bright face of Palla Graywing again lightened her spirits somewhat. Her eyes glistened, but she saluted her with the same grace and neutral face as before, just as a proper knight should. Minerva placed a hand over her own heart, careful to not bow deeper than Palla.

“I’m honored for this privilege, your highness”, the knight greeted her.

Minerva smiled and gestured at her to be at ease. “You have earned this privilege entirely by yourself – I was just glad to be there to witness it.”

The knight relaxed her shoulders and smiled back, then looked around. “Forgive me your highness, but I thought there would be more of us knights joining me?”

Minerva leaned over the backrest of a chair and corrected her headband. “You thought correctly. I expected another, but unfortunately, we cannot seem to find her. My master searches for her as we speak, though it seems she was never a knight at all, and I never got her full name. She only presented her as Catria. She called her Pegasus Mara, but that’s not much to go on.”

Palla grew stiff, and her face darkened slightly. “I know her.”

Minerva straightened, a smile formed on her lips. “You _do_? That’s such a relief – will you take me to her?”

“I very much intend to, if you'd allow it.” Palla’s face had become stern, and she gestured at Minerva to leave the room, holding the door up for her more out of reflex than chivalry. Something had really gotten to her, but Minerva found it hard to understand where her serious tone came from. Was this Catria some sort of criminal? A rival, perhaps? An assassin in wait? Remembering the girl’s youthful social clumsiness and eagerness, she found any of those options highly unlikely.

Palla led the way to the royal stables, where her Pegasus had just acquainted itself with his new box.

“It’s a bit of a long flight”, she explained while she padded herself with furs. “Dress warmly, princess.”

“I have flown in winter before, you know”, Minerva muttered, but she followed suit. Dressed in her royal fur mantle and cushioned boots, she led a newly awoken Titania out to the yard.

“Ready to go, your highness?” Palla called out to her. She’d already mounted.

Titania gazed sleepily at the new company and seemed unwilling to stretch her wings fully. Wyverns slept with one eye open except at times they felt perfectly safe, when they could go into something close to hibernation. They weren’t too quick on the uptake when disturbed from such sleep.

“I’m ready as soon as she is”, Minerva answered, giving Titania’s neck an illustrating pat. “You know the way, so take the lead.”

Titania immediately sobered when she noticed the Pegasus stallion going before her, and her competitive nature overpowered her longing for sleep. Her head twitched and she darted after Palla, taking flight with a mighty whooshing sound that put a storm to shame. It was only reluctantly she followed Minerva’s orders of staying behind them.  
Minerva quickly realized why Palla had made sure they dressed for cold – they were at course for the mountains framing Macedon’s east coast. After almost two hours of chilling flight, Palla signalled for a dive and steered her Pegasus down to a small forest hut in the middle of the mountain wilderness.

Titania landed on an odd square of grass that seemed newer than the rest around the small hut.

“We’re here”, Palla announced. A tiny face appeared for a second in the doorway into the hut, followed by an excited yell.

" _Palla’s hooooome_!!”

Palla crouched and was met by a hug from the small child exciting the doorway.

“Hello, little potato pie.” She gestured at Minerva, telling her: “That’s my liege, the princess Minerva. Be good and polite now.”

The child improvised a courtesy and then jumped at Minerva, grabbing her arms. Like Palla, she had hair that sparked of color, but in a humble pink hue, like a rare kind of aurora.

“Are you the princess _really_?” the girl babbled. “Do you have a crown somewhere? You’re rich, right – can I have some of your money?”

Palla looked mortified, but Minerva merely laughed and petted the arms that held her. “I assume your name is _Potato pie_?”

The child blew up her cheeks. “Only Palla gets to call me that! I’m _Est_!”

The same name as the mountain on the east coast that was first to meet the dawn, giving the top a pinkish glow. Very fitting. “Why, I’m pleased to meet you, Est.”

A familiar face surrounded by sapphire hair appeared in the doorway to the hut. Minerva was about to rise and proclaim her joy, but stopped herself as she saw Palla’s face grow stern again.

“Catria”, Palla greeted with some of the winter’s chill in her voice.

“’Ello, Palla. Gre’ings, y’highness”, she murmured, looking down at her feet, Palla’s shadow looming over her. The green-haired knight threw a glance at Minerva.

“I apologize for turning my back to you, your highness.” Then she turned back toward Catria again. “You have some explaining to do, little sister. I hear that you’ve not only pretended to be a knight in the presence of a princess but you _ventured all the way there and left Est here alone_? Do you have any idea what could have happened to her when you were gone? You left her for _half a day_ at least! How could you?”

“It en’t _fair_ ”, the young girl yelled back. “You get to go be a knight all day long and here I are huntin’ squirrels with a toddler!”

“Your turn will come! I was months from getting enough so we could move into town and have you started in training, but you just couldn’t wait that long, could you? It was childish and foolish of you, and we can thank the divines nothing happened to Est!”

The smallest of the three sisters had instinctively started to hug Minerva closer. She sucked on a dirty bundle of hair as she watched her two elders.  
Palla twisted around and stared sternly in front of her, her neutral knight’s face returning.

“I have done what I needed to do, your highness”, she said. “I am sorry for not telling you the full truth sooner, but I wanted you to see firsthand that you will have to pick another to serve you. Catria is merely a child without any kind of formal training.”

Catria’s eyes widened at her sister's words. “I was _chosen_?” She pulled at Palla’s arm, tears starting to stream down her cheeks. “You’re not fair – not _fair_ – I was chosen and I am just as good a knight as you!”

Minerva felt as though someone had shaken her. But part of being a princess and knight was to respond quickly to unexpected events.

“Please”, she said, and rose. “If I may.” She met Catria’s tear-filled gaze and took a step forward to meet her properly. “I am a bystander in these family matters, but I know my own. I too would do what I could to protect my little sister and punish those who put her in harm’s way.” Catria’s face paled a little. “But Palla is wrong about one thing – I don’t have to pick anyone else. I understand that becoming a part of my squad might be a bit out of your league for the time being, but I know what I saw in you. I wasn’t lying when I told you that you had potential, Catria Graywing.”

“Princess, I—“

“Palla, if I may. I never got a chance to explain this properly to you, either – as a part of my lifeguard it is demanded you live on the castle grounds. You’ll be at my service day and night all year. And the castle is very close to the knight academy – I will ask of you, Catria, that you enlist so that you can come into my service properly as soon as you’ve finished your junior year. Until then, I judge that Palla can do the job well enough for two. As for Est”, she said and patted the head of the child in front of her, “there is nothing we need to make official, but there is a place for her at the castle too. She will be allowed to live in the guest quarters as long as she is preoccupied. We have a healing master and a weapons master who loves having pupils and could do with another one. Do I assume correctly that you don’t have any guardians to object to this?”

All three sisters stood quietly for a moment, before Palla spoke.

“The only guardian is me. But I would be foolish to object such generosity, your excellence.”

“My”, Minerva said, not without a small smile, “ _your highness_ is proper and enough.”

Catria muttered something that sounded like _thanks y’highness_ and bowed a little, drying her tears.

Est had been still, listening to the entire conversation. As they became quiet once again, the child peeked up at Palla. “Are... Are you leaving again?”  
Palla bent down. “Little potato pie. We’re _all_ leaving.” She brushed some strands of Est’s hair away from the corner of her mouth. “We’ll go to the city, where I promised we would go one day, you remember?”

Est squinted, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Does that mean I get my own Pegasus?”

Palla looked quickly at Minerva before looking back. “We’ll wait and see! First things first, you have to pack your things, or we’ll never know, right? Off you go!”

She ushered Est toward the door, and the child took hold of Catria’s tunic as she passed.

“Can I take Mara?” she whispered, eyes sparkling of hope.

Catria dried her nose again, mumbling something in response that Minerva could not hear before she too entered the hut, disappearing from sight.

Only Palla and Minerva remained out in the cold, pale sun. Minerva hoped she hadn’t jumped to a conclusion, but she shouldn’t doubt herself. She’d come with her solution, and none had objected. She tilted her head to the side to try to read Palla’s face. The knight noticed and looked back at her, and Minerva smiled her most friendly smile. Palla did not smile back, instead, her eyes widened slightly.

“I should— I should help them get ready”, she said. “It will take but a moment. Thank you again for your kindness, your highness.” She turned away to the hut with a quick bow of the head, and Minerva was left standing alone in the frosty grass.

Titania let out a low bugle and placed her head beside Minerva’s, angling herself so she could peer at the small hut.

“Suppose there will be a lot more life in the castle, now”, Minerva mumbled, frowning slightly at Palla’s reaction. She scratched the wyvern behind her neck spikes. “We’d better get used to it.”

Titania let out a snort.

“Yeah”, Minerva agreed, feeling a slight smile tug at her lips. “I don’t think it will be too difficult, either.”


	6. Hauteclere

The door cut through the darkness of the room and the torchlight from the hallway unveiled a pale face, half hiding under the covers of a bed.

“ _Maria_!” Minerva whispered, loud enough to have the figure in the bed stir. “ _Wake up_!”

Maria blinked and squinted from the light behind Minerva, then two hands appeared to pull the duvet down from her face, revealing a smile.

“Minerva”, Maria greeted happily. She sat up, pulling the duvet close around her shoulders. “Is it time for your training? Do you want me to make you company?” Her smile was kind under her drowsy eyes.

“I do”, Minerva told her, grabbing Maria’s healing garb that hung neatly over the dresser. “But not for training. It’s just something I think you _really_ want to see!”  
Maria accepted the garb and pulled it over her head. Some of her uncombed hair got stuck in a button and twisted over to the other side of her head, giving her a sleepy, lopsided look. Minerva tousled it, making it even more of a mess.

“Minerva”, Maria giggled. “Stop, just give me a comb.”

“Nah.” Minerva took a gentle hold of her wrists and pulled her up to standing. “You look fine as you are. And besides”, she said while grabbing the pants she had had made special for flying as a passenger, “it would just get untidy again in a moment.”

Maria needed no other hint. “We’re going on Titania?”

Minerva smirked and threw the pants to her. “You’re going to love this, I swear!”

Maria answered with a broader smile, tip of her tongue sticking out at Minerva. “When have I ever had reason to doubt you, big sister?”

\---

Titania twirled gracefully across the morning sky, making even Minerva’s experienced mind tingle with the joy of flight. Maria was laughing loud enough to wake the entire countryside. She wasn’t a girl that people expected to have any loud qualities, but anyone who had heard her genuine laugh knew better.  
Minerva smiled and rested her cheek on Maria’s messy hairdo.

“It’s too bad you insist on learning the healing arts!” She had to speak pretty loud to overpower the roaring wind, even though she was so close. “You need the, what was it, closeness to the power of the earth too much to be able to heal while flying?”

Maria turned her head to beam at her. “You paid attention!”

“Don’t sound so surprised! I always try to remember what you tell me. You need both feet on the ground to be useful—“

“Or a horse, if you’re talented!”

Minerva smiled and steered Titania further west. “I mean, even though you can’t fly and heal, how come you haven’t chosen a mount for yourself to fly, just for fun?”

Maria grabbed the edge of the saddle and squealed with excitement as they turned. Then she let her head rest back on Minerva’s clavicle.

“You know, each time I think of flying on my own, I get scared.” She looked in front of her, toward the horizon. “I just know I’ll be petrified of falling.”

“What? You never told me this! You’ve never looked scared in the slightest when we fly.”

Maria bent back her head to meet Minerva’s gaze and smiled, seemingly at perfect peace. “How could I? I am with you.”

Minerva didn’t know what to say, she just hugged Maria with the arm she was already holding on to her with and ordered Titania to dive. The three of them drilled through the air towards the lake that was both Maria’s and Minerva’s favorite summer spot.

“We’re going for a bath?” Maria laughed as they had landed (diving made conversation impossible). “You’re absolutely absurd – it’s barely spring!”

Minerva grinned and rested her hands on her hips. “I just dipped my feet in earlier this morning, it wasn’t so bad!”

“Oh? Is that why you’re walking so funny, because your feet are made of ice?”

“Is that so? I walk funny now?” Minerva poked Maria in the rib. “That’s not very nice to say to your elders, you know.”

Maria giggled and slid down Titania’s front leg to avoid Minerva and darted for safety in behind the wyverns head. Titania nudged her playfully, almost tipping her over.  
Minerva dismounted as well, and hooked her arm in Maria’s.

“Well, you little rascal, I’ll tell you this much – we’re not going for a swim. We’ve got to be quiet now though, so just follow me.”

 

They ventured together into the forest and walked though the brushwood as soundlessly as they could. The rays of dawn spread down through the naked branches of hazel, elm and ash, slowly warming their cheeks as they strode onwards. The sun had almost risen fully by the time Minerva stopped and pointed towards a burrow on the back of a tree.

“Go closer”, Minerva whispered, and Maria did as she said. She bent down, then she jerked slightly and turned her head back at Minerva with a soundless gasp.

“ _Fox cubs_?”

Minerva merely smiled as she watched her sister kneel a few feet outside the burrow. She spoke in a gentle voice, the sound putting even the soft sunlight to shame. Two tiny heads peered out of the shadow of the burrow, then a third joined them. They took a few daring steps toward Maria, sniffing curiously. Maria still spoke to them, her voice so warm even Minerva relaxed her shoulders.

Maria’s talents did not stop at healing; she was filled to the brim with the magic of light and earth. She mended and calmed with only her presence.  
The young foxes tried climbing on her lap, dirtying her white healing garb with their paws. Maria stroked their heads and looked back at Minerva again. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes shining.

“They’re _amazing_ ”, she whispered. Minerva smiled back, watched as one of the cubs curled itself to sleep under the warmth of Maria’s hand.

 _No_ , she thought. _You are_.

\---

The training grounds were a distant drum of galloping Pegasi. Catria’s junior class had been out for hours already when Minerva returned from her morning trip with Maria.  
Time passed too quickly in Maria's company. Minerva could have spent the entire day outside, had it not been for both their responsibilities.

“Your _highness_!”

Minerva had barely had time to exit the stables and hug Maria goodbye before Palla came running to meet her.

Minerva did half a salute. “Morning, Palla. Do I detect a scolding tone?”

The young knight took a sharp breath and closed her eyes. “You didn’t tell me you left! I cannot possibly approve of you going alone, milady, you know that.”

“I do."

Palla and Minerva had been in their own order for half a year and Minerva could count hours of privacy she’d had since then on one hand. She and Palla sparred together, ate together and when Minerva studied (or rather, _attempted_ to), Palla sat with books of her own, but her gaze was always on the windows, the doorways, every moving shadow.

Minerva slept having Palla in the room next to her, all that was needed was a short cry and she’d be by Minerva’s side in a second. She’d experienced it almost too many times already, if she closed her window-shutters with too much force, if she dropped a book on the floor, if the stubbed her toe and uttered a gasp, Palla tore her own door open and rushed in with sword in hand.

All this had been exhausting at first, but Minerva quickly grew used to it – it was quite lovely, in an unusual way. Sure, Palla was a bit stiff – but she was never disrespectful and always so considerate. Minerva still wanted time for only herself and Maria though.

“I just wanted to show Maria the place we discovered yesterday”, Minerva said, tilting her head and giving her most apologetic smile. “The foxes we saw when we practiced jogging in forest terrain, if you remember. There’s never anybody around that lake. No need to worry.”

Palla bent her head, sighing. “It is my job to do just that, milady.”

“And what a fine job you do”, Minerva answered, patting her shoulder. “Though I will still insist it is unnecessary, even now. I’m going to attend my first council meeting with father today, so have some time off until we’re done.”

Palla looked confused. “Sorry?”

“The council meeting, I told you about it yesterday—“

“Not that – what do you mean, _time off_?”

Minerva couldn’t help smiling, although Palla did not seem to be joking. “Take a walk, or go with Est for a flight or something. I’ll come find you when the meeting is over.”

Wyverns circled every tower of the castle, giving it the look of a well-armored beehive. Nothing could come close to the security of the king’s meeting chambers – having Palla around would be excessive. And the divines knew she needed a break. Minerva wasn’t sure if she had had one since the day she was born. She kept up a stunning image of unbreakable spirit, but she had to be tired. On the other hand, Minerva still knew very little of the feelings and thoughts of her first knight. Was it in a princess’ place to ask such things?

Palla stood speechless, but finally gave a short nod and let Minerva go without following her. Minerva strode along the castle palisade, into the torch-lit hallways. Her stomach jumped a little for every step she took – she’d wanted to not think too much about her first time at the council, but the closer she got, the colder her palms got. She’d temporarily forgotten about it when she’d flown with Maria, she’d thought a council couldn’t possibly be much different from dinners and discussions at court, but now she had her doubts. She’d hate to disappoint. Although her father’s invitation had been so casual; surely he didn’t expect much of her?

She reached the exquisite gold-plated door leading into the counselling chambers. She stood outside it for a moment, before she took a deep breath and pushed it open.

“Minerva.” She was acknowledged by her father as soon as she stepped into the room. “Welcome! My, you look stronger for each day passing! If only your late mother could have seen you like this.”

Three years had now passed since the death of the queen, and with so much happening in her life, there were days Minerva almost forgot her mother had ever existed. She did miss her embrace and excitement over Pegasi, but she felt as though her father had more right to voice these feelings. It didn’t make much sense, but she felt it nonetheless.

“May her memory remain radiant”, was all she could think of saying. The door opened once again just as Minerva had had a seat beside her father at the thick wooden table, and Michalis entered the room.

“Son.” Their father acknowledged him in the same way he had Minerva, though perhaps lacking some of his earlier excitement. “I hope your studies are going well?”

“Spectacularly”, Michalis answered, sparing a stern look at them both. “Good day, sister.”

“Same to you.”

It had been years since Minerva had even considered asking what exactly her brother occupied himself with. Seeing him sit down and habitually lift a quill to scribble down notes did spark a certain curiosity. He looked so natural there on his father’s right side, radiating confidence. Did he think he’d perfected knighthood already? Did he study magic now, or perhaps he focused on his courtly duties? She knew better than to actually ask, but she was curious nonetheless.  
The royal councillor and First General entered shortly after Michalis, and the meeting was pronounced open.

For the most part, Minerva had a very shallow interest in every subject that was lifted. An invite to the wedding of the King of Aurelis, King Cornelius of Altea opens up the trade of barley and wants furs from Macedon, the First General read damage reports from the recent lightning storms around the west coast of Macedon. Hours passed by quickly, the midday sun no longer visible in the room’s southern window. Minerva listened closely but never interjected. Michalis, on the other hand, was eager to enter every discussion – especially the one regarding military support. The large nation to the north, Archanea, requested more flying mercenaries from Macedon. They reported sightings of Manakete – dragon shapeshifters – on their southern borders, facing the Dragon nation Doluna. This was met by frowns by everyone present, and Minerva sharpened her ears. Dragons had not been seen for millennia.

Michalis waved his quill to get their attention, lifting his thoughts on the matter. He argued that if there was unrest in Doluna, the flying soldiers were needed in Macedon, since all that separated Macedon and Doluna was a thick evergreen forest and a mountain range, while every other nation had the protection of at least a few miles of ocean.

“The prince has a fair point”, the First General interjected. “We have noticed the unrest firsthand already – the villages around the Dolunan border have had a surge in bandit raids lately. Perhaps being restrictive with sending mercenaries overseas is a good idea at the time, Your Majesty.”

“Have we not already gone over this, First General?” The king stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It is unfortunate, but we cannot risk looking aggressive too close to the border. If we send troops up north, Doluna might see it as a declaration of war, or even if that’s not the case, the bandits will only hit harder.”

Minerva leaned forward, spoke for the first time. “We are just leaving dozens of villages to be raided?”

“Not exactly”, the First general said and poked her royal emblem uncomfortably. “A month ago we tried to discreetly reinforce the amount of guards patrolling the villages, but the bandits are much more organized than we thought. If there are larger groups of soldiers they will gather at full strength and go out of their way to slaughter the villagers as well. At least they leave the villagers alive if we don’t have patrols.”

Minerva supported her chin in her hand, frowning deeper. “Then why not send a stealth unit to track them down and attack those bandits at the source? They can’t show organization if they’re dead.”

Michalis gave Minerva an annoyed look. She guessed he wasn’t too pleased about straying from the original conversation.

“Perhaps that’s what we could use the otherwise intended mercenaries for?” the prince suggested, taking another chance to further his point.

“Or we could do both”, Minerva said, placing both hands on the tabletop. “ _I_ have a small order of my own. We’re the best fliers of our division, and we have no current assignment other than to sit on our hands.”

“Your order’s _assignment_ is to keep you alive”, the First General said. “Are you suggesting we’d send our princess into danger?”

Minerva narrowed her eyes. “One flier is calculated to have the strategic strength of ten units on the ground. I know we can take on a couple of bandits, no real _danger_ involved.”

“Minerva, don’t speak of things you don’t have the full knowledge of”, her father interjected. “We already established that these bandits are more equipped than is typical – I would be a fool to send my own daughter into that oblivion.”

“You said just a few hours ago I look stronger every day, father. That is because I _am_. We’re wasted at the castle. If my order moves out, the villages will receive the protection we’re obliged to give them, and at the same time we will not let Archanea down.”

“You’re _thirteen_ , Minerva”, Michalis snorted. “You’re not invincible. Right now, you’re just silly.”

“I am a knight”, Minerva sparked and slammed a hand on her chest to emphasize her point, “and I know my strengths well enough. Perhaps you’re being silly for pretending you know better than father on these things!”

“I don’t _pretend_ , you’re the one who—“

“Children”, the king frowned. “Don’t fuss. You sound like toddlers. “

Michalis glared at Minerva and hunched back in his chair.

“I will take this proposition seriously, regardless of what I as a father may feel. I admit it sounds tempting to not deny Archanea the help—“

“They don’t need any help”, Minerva heard Michalis mutter, but their father continued:

“—and so I am willing to hear what the rest of you would think of this solution. Princess Minerva will go with her knights to track down the bandits, and we shall send a squadron of mercenaries to House Archanea, supplying us with enough gold to lower the taxes of the peasants and still have them protected and fed.”

“I vote in favor”, the old woman in the role of counsellor said almost immediately after the king finished speaking, and the First General nodded her approval as well, only a quick worried gaze in Minerva’s direction.

“I have nothing more to say on the matter”, Michalis said sulkily, leaning further back in his chair and blinking his blood-colored forelocks out of his eyes.

The king sighed. “Then it shall be so. Michalis, bring the notes to my desk by tomorrow night. As for now, we’ve covered every subject of pressing importance; I now pronounce this meeting over and done.”

Michalis did not need to be asked twice, he rose immediately, but on the way to the door he stopped and put a hand on Minerva’s shoulder, as he had done so many times before.

“Don’t go dying on us now”, he said, crimson eyes softening slightly as he looked down at her. “You big brute.”

“I will try to spare you the sorrow”, she teased back. She thought she saw the shadow of a smile before he turned his back and left.

 

Minerva was about to follow suit but her father put his hand on top of hers. “Please, dear child. Would you take a short walk with me?”

Minerva feared a scolding for pushing such a wild and dangerous suggestion, but did not want to disappoint. After all, how could she face bandits if she couldn’t even face her own father’s worries?

The king rose with the support of his chair, and bid his counsellor and general good day. Minerva followed him through the hallways.

“You surprised me today, daughter”, the king smiled. “Even Michalis sat quietly during his first council. And here you got your way almost the second you spoke.”

Minerva said nothing.

“You may think I’m displeased”, the king continued, “but I am rather proud. You have much of your mother in you – she was always a soldier first and queen second. As much as I worried each time she was out on her duties, I was always proud too.”

Minerva sighed, looked out of the windows they passed. “Maria might be the only one to take after you.”

“Yes, thankfully she does. Goodness knows I would not survive to have all three of my children eager to jump into harm’s way.” The king chuckled, and opened the big door to the throne room. “I have great faith in you, daughter, but regardless... Please allow your old man to do what he can to lessen his worry.” As he spoke, he revealed his royal neckpiece and put his other hand to the wall behind the throne. He delivered a few magic words and the wall beneath his hand shivered slightly.

Minerva walked closer, eyes widening as the wall shimmered, grew almost transparent.

The king turned his eyes on her, smiling. “I don’t believe you’ve been invited to the royal treasury before?”

Minerva blinked in disbelief as the great chunks of stone revealed a chamber of silver-plated walls and dusty old chests. Around a great shield that shimmered of magic, a painting of every great ruler of Macedon was framed in gold and jewels. By the edge to the ceiling was the dustiest portrait of all, but Minerva could still glimpse the shape of a young man with hair and eyes like fire and blood. Every Macedonan citizen knew the face of Iote, the first king and founder of their kingdom. Minerva realized that every portrait made of him must be a copy of this one. It had to be over a thousand years old.

Yet it was not the most astounding thing in the treasury. On a metal rack in the middle of the room, a great double-edged battleaxe was stationed. Minerva walked closer to it, forgot everything around her as she took in the sight of it. Signs in the ancient dragon language were inscribed along the handle and its edges seemed to shine as if it had been fresh out of the smithy just earlier that morning, yet there was no doubt that the weapon was older than Macedon itself.  
Minerva had never seen such beauty.

“Few nations on our continent have been blessed with their own weapons of legend”, her father said as he stepped in beside her. “The royal family of Altea possesses the holy blade Falchion, and Archanea has the three Regalia weapons Mercurius, Gradivus and Parthia in their possession. What is unbeknownst to many, though, is that Macedon has some legends on par with them.” He pointed towards the wall, and Minerva looked away from the battleaxe reluctantly. “The shield you see was once possessed by Iote, the first of our royal line. The shield protects the owner from any projectile, but it is not to be used unless we face a true crisis.”

He gestured back on the battleaxe. “But this weapon has no such restrictions. This is Hauteclere, an axe stronger than any other. It cuts through steel but will never be dulled by time or use. It is picky about its wielder, but should its magic not be compatible with you, you will notice.”

Minerva stirred, as if awoken from a dream. “You mean for me to...?”

The king scratched his ear, looking to the side. “I have thought about presenting Hauteclere to you ever since your master told me of your natural talent with the battleaxe. I just never got around to it. I suppose I... worried you’d throw yourself into even more danger if you owned it. But now, giving it to you will make me worry _less_. So go ahead, please.”

The king stepped aside, and Minerva moved forward. Her hands carefully clasped the handle and lifted the axe off the weapon rack. It was light, responding to her thoughts the same way her arms and legs did. A surge of power crawled along her body, and a flash of crimson red covered her sight for a heartbeat. An ancient whisper in a long forgotten language rattled her bones.

_I promise you death to your enemies._

She felt stretched out, as if her mind had tried to transcend its natural borders, but other than that Hauteclere now felt just like any other axe in her hands – except for how gloriously light it was. Light, yet with an air of devastating might.

“Father.” The words clogged in her throat. “I—“

“Say nothing, Minerva. It is not me you should show gratitude to – Hauteclere has been calling for you for years, it was just my folly keeping you apart. I see now how obvious it is that it belongs to you.” He put his arms over her shoulders, embracing her without getting too close to the sharp edges of the axe. He kissed her quickly on top of her head. “You children are the joy of my heart. Please return safely, Minerva.”

Minerva brushed her fingers along the edge, the blank surface reflecting her smile back at her. “I promise. Do not fear for me, father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("Doluna" is the European localization name for "Dolhr")


	7. Evergreen

They left early the next morning.

Catria had impressed every instructor in the knight academy with her complete devotion to the art, and would most likely graduate within the year. Minerva had decided to bring her along despite her not yet wearing the official mark of a knight. She had bested most of her seniors already – leaving her at the castle because she hadn’t yet earned her ring would be nothing short of foolish.

 

They packed the last of their supplies outside the stables. Catria tried to not show her excitement, but it was clear in how she rocked on her heels while she tied her saddlebags. She was the first to mount, bouncing slightly in the saddle, correcting the bridle behind Mara's ears.  
Palla was her usual restrained self, although Minerva could see a glint of eagerness in her eye as well. It wouldn't surprise Minerva if she’d longed to be useful outside of the castle, just as she had. Although Palla still didn’t speak to her much beyond formalities, Minerva was sometimes struck by the odd feeling that their minds were cut the same. If she overlooked Palla’s stiff way of speech.

Maria was the only one to see them off. Est had twisted her ankle during training and wasn’t allowed to walk for a day or two, so the three sisters had said their goodbyes in her room. The king had been forced to leave before dawn for a royal introduction to the newly restored southern harbor. And of course  _Michalis_ wouldn't bother waving goodbye.

Minerva was about to mount, but stayed with her hand on Titania’s back, looking over her shoulder. A sting of pain travelled through her as she saw Maria, a seven year old drying her eyes all alone by the stable wall.  
Doubt dripped into Minerva’s mind, like drops of lead in a pond. When would she see her again?

She shook the feeling off. Villages to the north faced daily threats and here she considered staying in her shelter, just so she wouldn’t miss Maria.

 _I can’t be selfish_.

She bent down, offering her arm for an embrace. Maria almost threw herself in, hugged Minerva as tight as she could.

“I love you lots”, she whispered through her tears.

Minerva tried to ignore the pain, swallowing it down. “I love you too, silly. Don’t cry, we’ll be back in a few weeks or so.”

Those words only made Maria hug her tighter. “Make sure you do.”

Minerva gave her a confident smile as she let go. She took to the air without looking back, Catria and Palla close behind.

 

The droplets of doubt had begun to corrode a tiny hole in her heart already. She’d never faced a real enemy before. What if she wasn’t as good at battling as she thought? Would her inexperience cause her grief or harm?  
She glanced back at Palla and Catria. She couldn't distinguish their facial expressions, though Palla noticed her looking back and gestured an _'all is well'_ at her.  
Minerva smiled at that. Of course it was. She'd made her decision, and worrying about it wouldn’t help. This was the path every knight should strive to follow. The right path.

She fixated her gaze back on the northern horizon and raised a hand in an order to reach higher skies. The castle grounds quickly disappeared from sight.  
They would have to stop for at least two nights before reaching the proper northern border, but their rations would supply them for that and more. The only potential problem was finding a place to rest their mounts in the thickness of the evergreen trees, but the Graywing sisters demonstrated their upbringing in the mountains by their good eye for natural shelters.

 

After a day’s flight, Catria signalled for a suggested landing. Minerva signalled permission, and they all dove down under the treetops.  
Catria had spotted a lovely clearing circled by pines, firs and junipers protecting them from the icy spring winds. Minerva looked above her as they’d reached the ground, her brows raised. The pines reached so high they seemed to create an impenetrable ceiling, protecting them from the inevitable night rain. She could never have seen this place from the sky.

“You have a good eye for this, Catria”, Minerva complimented her as they dismounted.

Catria was loosening the straps of her saddle, but turned to Minerva with a smile.  
“Thanks m’lady.” The girl tried her best to speak proper, but when she was comfortable her country accent tended to slip back. “Huntress of trade, y’know.”

Minerva strapped off Titania’s gear as well, unpacking the cow’s leg she’d rationed for her meal.

“It’s impressive that you have a trade at your age”, she said, dumping the giant piece of meat on the ground. Titania immediately began tearing it asunder. “Who taught you?”

“That’d be my da.” Catria’s eyes skipped to Palla who walked towards them with her arms full of firewood.

“Please excuse me, Commander”, Catria murmured. “I fear we might need to spice our rations with a rabbit or two.” An accent switch. Something made her uncomfortable.

Catria turned on her heel just as Palla reached them, and disappeared between the trees. Minerva bent down to help Palla arrange the firewood and start the fire.

“Catria seemed bothered”, Minerva said, glancing up at Palla from beneath her eyelids. “Did I say something wrong?”

Palla bit her lip, eyes focused on the fire striker. “Parents are a bit of a sensitive topic for her. Est was too young to understand, I was old enough to grieve, but Catria did not handle their deaths well.”

The sparks caught on to the slightly damp grass, a humble ember fighting to grow.

“I’m very sorry, Palla.” She looked to the side, watching the pegasi peacefully grazing and Titania gnawing on bones. “I... What happened to them?”

Palla looked the way Catria had disappeared and put her hands toward the embers to warm them. Her face was stern, as usual, and Minerva did not expect her to answer.  
She hoped she hadn’t ruined everything entirely by asking – they were going to be even closer to each other in the wilderness, so awkwardness would be the worst killer of their spirits.  
But she _wanted_ to know. Wanted to speak with them as freely as she did with Maria.

“My mother and father became very ill one day”, Palla said suddenly, her frown deepening. “It cost our last coins, but I took my mother’s old Pegasus and flew down to town to fetch a healer.”

The embers slowly took the shape of flickering flames, spreading its warmth to Minerva’s cold arms. In the warm glow, Palla’s face seemed to soften.

“I thought the healer would save our parents and then leave, but when she arrived at their bed she took Catria and Est by the arms and turned on her heel. She pushed us all out the door. Told me that we mustn’t ever enter the house again. Catria didn’t listen; she tried to run back in, so the healer wrestled her to the ground. And I just stood there. Est was bawling, at first I didn’t hear what the healer yelled at me. She had to grab me by the collar and pull me down.”

Palla smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “She wasn’t the typical healer, maybe, but she got her message through. She told me our parents would be dead by evening. Their illness was a terribly contagious plague, carried rarely and exclusively by white deer. And our father had scratched his leg on the horns of one’s carcass the other day. He didn’t see it, the deer must have known it was sick and gone to hide and die in the brush. They both stayed to bury it with old dry leaves – the white deer is sacred in the mountains, as you know. Said to bring great fortune. Father shared this story over dinner just the night before they got so ill.”

Minerva stayed absolutely quiet. She hadn’t heard Palla speak this much, ever. Palla herself seemed to almost have forgotten Minerva was there, her eyes distantly gazing into the flames.

“The healer said we children were lucky it was reversible by magic in early stages, and that the young usually fared better than adults. But we couldn’t go back in to say our farewells; it would be inviting the deadly disease onto us again. And the healer had no time to stay for such... _nonsense_ , as she put it. She had to get back to town and try to reverse the sickness that I might have spread to anyone in town.”

“I heard about that”, Minerva interjected carefully. “My father had every royal healer dispatched to comb through Macedon so we could avoid a nationwide plague.”

“My.” Palla blinked slowly, still not looking away from the flames. “I never knew.”

“They managed to stop the spread. Sounds like your parents were the only victims.”

Palla looked up at that, her eyes clear as dew. “As strange as it sounds, I am glad. I wouldn’t wish what we went through upon anyone.”She balled her hands into fists on her lap, her shoulders tense. “I had to lock Catria and Est in our shed, a great distance away from our main house. I sat outside the door for the entire day, waited until dusk. Then I burned our main house down. I just hope our parents had already died by then, just as the healer had said they would.” Palla sat quietly for a moment, her shoulders slowly relaxing. Her gaze had found the stars.

“I don’t think Catria has ever fully forgiven me”, she murmured. “She was six. Of course she saw me as a demon, the one who burned everything to the ground. I haven’t had the courage to ask her if she still hates me for it.”

“You were _nine_.”

“I was.” Palla leaned back, angled her head to watch as the stars ignited in the sky, one by one. “I had applied for knighthood by then, but waited for another year. Trying to fill the role as guardian – Est did _not_ give me an easy time. She kept asking about mom and dad. It was hard on all of us. In a way, it was a relief to start my training, only coming home late and immediately going out to hunt. I left Catria to stay with Est during the day. I hated giving her such a responsibility, though Catria obviously took the time to practice riding on old Mara when I wasn’t home.”

A slight smile played at Palla’s lips. “We got by. Not by much, but we had each other and it was enough. It had to be.”

“Divines be merciful.” Minerva had never used that term, but Maria usually said it in a context of bafflement, and it felt fitting. “I’m very sorry.”

Palla looked at her with slight surprise. “Don’t be – I apologize, I shouldn’t have burdened you with this.” She looked onto her lap, before straightening her back, her face once again taking on a soldiers mask. “I assure you, our family matters will not affect our professionalism!”

Minerva frowned, tilting her head so she could maintain eye-contact. “I’ve seen proof of that firsthand”, she said. “But it saddens me that you’d think that’s my first concern. At times like these, won’t you speak to me as a friend? I’d prefer it.”

She dug her hand down in the saddlebag she’d carried with her, picked out their rationed dinner for the day and gave Palla her portion. She accepted it mechanically.

“That would be difficult.” The knight poked at the food, avoiding Minerva’s gaze.

“Oh. Well, I won’t take it personally if you think I’m unlikeable, I’m fine with professionalism too, I just thought—“

“Don’t be absurd!” Palla cut her off, and a blush spread over her throat. “There is no finer person than you!”

Minerva looked back at her, hands frozen inside the saddlebag. “Well, uh... I’m sorry I... I’m glad though, that’s... Nice news?”

Palla’s face went as red as overripe apples. “Death and damnation”, Palla whispered to herself, shoving the food into her mouth, bending her head so her hair covered her eyes.  
Minerva slowly took her own portion from the bag, focusing solely on her hand and not the weight in her chest.

As far as talking went, she could have done worse.  
Although, on the other hand, she could have done much, _much_ better.  
If she just stayed quiet, Palla would forget about it. Or so she hoped.

 

They ate without a word, as they had done so many times before. Minerva found herself settling back into the usual comfort of Palla’s formal silence, both to her relief and dismay.

Catria joined them not too long after, carrying two rabbits over her shoulder. She was quick to comment on how Palla’s face had ‘remarkable color’, and true enough, Palla’s flushing hadn’t disappeared just yet. Which was enough for Palla to grow redder again.

And for the life of her, Minerva couldn’t figure out why.

\---

They reached the outskirts of Macedon by midday the second day. No mishaps except for Titania stepping on their rations basket, although Catria didn’t mind this half as much as Minerva and Palla did. Apparently, she was very fond of fruit purée, which wasn’t far off from wyvern-mashed fruit.

They still tried their best to hide their own nervousness, though Minerva figured that since she could sense theirs, they could probably sense hers.  
Doubt was meaningless. She knew that. Hadn’t Michalis hassled her on how _no soldier hesitated_? He’d be disappointed if he knew of the butterflies in her belly.  
Although he was just as clueless about what a real battle meant as she was. So his disappointment wouldn’t be worth much.  
The only thing of value was _Maria’s_ disappointment if Minerva never returned.  
She would _not_ let that happen.

“This is unfamiliar territory for all of us”, Minerva said as they landed on the edge of an abandoned farm. “From here on out, we focus on stealth. We’ll travel on the ground.”

“Ugh”, Catria interjected. “If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have come.”

“Catria!” Palla hissed. “That is _not_ something you say to your commander!”

“Oh, would you loosen up for two seconds, _please_? It was a joke.”

Palla opened her mouth to speak, but Minerva could apparently quiet her with only a tired glance.

“We must focus, or we might die”, she said, throwing an eye on Catria as well. “The first of the plagued villages is but a few miles ahead. The enemy can ambush us at any moment.”

“Focus or die”, Catria repeated, her cheeks slightly reddened. “I got it, Commander.”

 

They rode on through peaceful terrain, and by evening they’d reached the village with no interruption. Every window was slammed shut, not a soul was to be seen on the mud-filled streets. They circled the village, Titania held an agitated growl in her throat the whole time.

“Something’s here”, Minerva said, loosening Hauteclere from her belt. “Stay alert.”

“I got my eyes peeled”, Catria assured them. The next moment, an iron axe glinted from behind a bush, right beside her. Her eyes nearly _were_ peeled from the blow that followed. She saved herself by parrying with her lance, snapping it in two. Her Pegasus darted away expertly, but there was nothing she could do to save herself from the follow-up attack.

Axes had a great advantage over lances since a flimsy pole didn’t stand much of a chance against the compressing weight a battleaxe. On the other hand, an axe was too clumsy to stand up to a sword; a skilled sword-wielder could kill an axe-wielder before they had time to strike. And the sword was Palla’s expertise.

“ _Catria_!” sounded more like a primal war cry than a name. Within a heartbeat, Palla’s blade sliced open the tendons of the arms that swung the axe, finishing with a furious stab into the throat of the attacker.

 

None of the three had any time to reflect on the first time they took a life; bandits flowed into the village from every direction. Minerva's squad must have walked right into their siege of the village and interrupted their plans of a raid when darkness fell - an interruption they wanted gone. Stillness broke into chaos.

The mounts smelled blood in the air from the first kill. Minerva felt how Titania’s muscles tensed below the saddle. The pegasi had whites showing in their eyes, while Titania’s pupils had dilated to almost the size of her whole eye. There was no turning back. This was what Minerva had come for.

Minerva’s world narrowed to nothing but the primal heartbeats in her ears.  
No time to think.

She shouted the command to get airborne. One of Catria’s javelins brushed past as Titania extended her wings, knocking a mounted bandit off her horse.  
Hauteclare resonated in her body as Minerva faced the bandit horde, Titania now hovering in the air above the village.

“Surrender or face death!”

None surrendered.  
And so, none should live.

The pegasi swooped above Minerva as she and Titania dived down closer to the ground.  
The wyvern followed her subtle commands, trusted her even in the face of dozens of sharp weapons. And Minerva would never betray that. Anything that came close to touching the wyvern met limb-splitting death by her axe.

Hauteclare’s weight was unnoticeable to Minerva, but its blade still cut through human bone and muscle as if they were buttercakes.  
Javelins rained down around her, Catria’s shadow circling above her to take out any threat Minerva had missed. Palla’s shape darted in and out of her sight. She – in contrast to Catria – stayed low, and for the first time Minerva truly saw what her mother had meant by how skilled Sky knights trusted their Pegasus’ instincts. Pegasus and rider looked like one as they dodged enemy blows, countering with a sweeping sword strike, and then just as quickly dodged again.

Palla always moved as though fighting was an art, even now as her movements were erratic from having multiple opponents at once. Minerva swept in from behind her, a battering ram clearing away the foes that threatened to overwhelm her.

Palla immediately took her turn, dashing to higher air and then down onto enemies behind Minerva.  
A dangerous, glorious dance.

In the midst of it, Minerva hadn’t had time to feel afraid. She hadn’t felt much at all, except the thrill of seemingly never-ending dangers. In a sense, she found herself enjoying pushing her body, using everything she had ever learned to stay whole and breathing.  
She’d never felt so alive.

The neighs of frightened horses and yells of battle thinned out as darkness settled over them. As the sun had fully set, nothing more could be heard. The reek of a real battle stung her nose as Minerva carefully returned to the ground, Titania hissing as something that must have been bone snapped under her feet.

Minerva’s heartbeat was still thundering in her head as she looked around her, her hands clasping Hauteclere’s handle, ready to smash it into anything that moved.  
But there was nothing, except for the panting of the Graywing sisters as they too landed beside her.

Palla’s sword still glinted in the dull light, but Catria’s arms hang passively at their sides, her weapons sheathed.

“I don’t think anyone escaped, your highness.” Palla exhaled sharply. “I could spot no movement in the outer shadows of the village from above.”

“That’s both good and bad news, I suppose”, Minerva said, resting her forehead against Titania’s pulsating throat. “It’s harder to track dead people.”

“Hard, but not impossible”, Catria added. “Tho’ I can do no better’n a toddler when it’s dark.”

Minerva barked an empty laugh. “Good work, you two.”

Catria let out her own laughter, high pitched as Minerva had never heard it before. “ _Focus or die_ , you said”, she snorted, leaning forward. “I dunno, it’s— It’s _funny_! I thought I got it, but my heart stopped when I thought they had me.”

“My heart is still not beating properly”, Palla said and rode closer to Catria so she could put her arm around her. “Divines all know I was scared beyond my wits, when I realized I was close to losing you.”

The shadow of Catria returned the hug by putting her arm around Palla’s waist. “Naw, Palla. It’s fine. I know.”

Minerva forced herself to look up. Now that the threat to her life had passed, her mind had settled into a strange sort of dizziness. Seeing bodies scattered all over the place awakened a slight guilt inside her, knowing that she was the cause.

 _I was protecting the defenceless_. That thought eased the guilt somewhat, but the insight of having reaped lives was still a bit jarring in her heart.  
She longed for sleep, but knew her business wasn’t finished just yet.

She sat up straighter, then shouted into the night.

“Village Elder, your home is secured! By order of your Princess Minerva, come out to greet us if you’re still alive!”

 _It looks like a dead town to me, though_ , Minerva added to herself. She repeated her order, but her voice only seemed to echo on the house walls.  
She looked toward the sisters. Palla had let go of Catria, and she surprised Minerva by shrugging at her when their eyes met.

“What’s next, Commander?”Catria was leaning closer so that Minerva could see her in the darkness of the starless sky.

Minerva looked away. Her head was still so dull, her palms still glued to the hilt of Hauteclere. Staying where they were would be folly, if anything they should try to find a safe hiding place to rest, wash the blood of their hands. She was just about to voice the order to turn around when the flicker of a torch exited one of the buildings. A crooked old woman walked forth with the support of a young man who was uselessly armed with a pike in the same hand he held the torch.

“Village elder, I assume?” Minerva half shouted.

“I hear you, stranger”, the woman cooed, stopping at a safe distance from Titania. “My ears are well, although my legs are not.” The two villagers inched closer, and a pair of alert old eyes met Minerva’s. “You’re here on order of Princess Minerva? Goodness bestow her—“

“Pardon me, Elder, but I _am_ Princess Minerva.” She hadn’t thought about how to present herself to the villages she intended to save; her focus was placed on battles, not diplomacy. For the flicker of a moment, she wondered what Michalis would have done.

Disbelief played on the face of the young man in front of her, as he put the torch closer. Minerva took the moment to straighten her golden circlet on top of her green headband, hoping it would be enough. The elder drew a sharp breath and immediately bowed deeply, dragging her company down to a bow along with her.

“Your Highness, welcome to our humble village.” The elder stood straight again, seemingly not used to the rules of courtesy, although Minerva didn’t care. By that point she was exhausted, cold and hungry – not something pleasantries could satisfy. “I cannot express our gratitude for coming to our aid—“

“Aid?” The young man cut the elder off. “The royals sent help before, and all it did was make things worse! My family is _dead_ thanks to kings and queens not seeing further than their own noble noses. At least the bandits didn’t kill people before they interfered!”

Palla rode toward him, but Minerva held up a hand. “Peace, Palla. May I have your name, young man?” She had considered calling him ' _citizen'_ , but realized it might not sound too good to his ears.

“Haakin. Make sure they say it right when you execute me, you git.”

One of the things Minerva hadn’t been prepared for was bitterness. So she sat quietly for a few moments, Titania shifting her weight to sniff one of the corpses.  
“I’m not going to execute you, Haakin”, she said finally. Calling a princess a git was probably a capital offence, but what kind of noble worth the name couldn’t stomach an insult?

“We are aware that the situation worsened after we sent soldiers”, she continued, “and we were at a loss for what to do to stop the vicious cycle. The solution is this – we track down the bandits until we find their lair, and end them for good. With my small flying force, it is possible. As you see, we can take on more than a few of them.”

The young Haakin swept his gaze over the dead sprawled around the village grounds, and retreated his torch again. Still disbelieving, Minerva could tell. Then again, he had a proper reason.

She needed to be even braver.

“I am very sorry for the loss we nobles caused you.”

Her breath almost got stuck in her throat as she spoke, her gut twisting as if she was diving headfirst from a cliff. She could stomach bandits, apparently, but bowing her head was somehow terrifying.

Haakin’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps he wasn’t too impressed, but he at least didn’t scoff at her. That was something.

“I will do what’s in my power to set things right and stop the raids”, she promised. “No citizens of Macedon shall live unprotected. You have my word.” She dismounted, and in the corner of her eye, she saw Palla and Catria follow suit. Minerva looked back down on the village elder, a slight smile playing on her lips as she met those keen eyes again, and saw hope.

“As for right now, though”, she said, “I hope it’s not too rude of me to ask to share the fire under your roof. It’s awfully cold out here.”


	8. A Glint of Steel

Tracing the bandits was painstaking, slow work.

 

The first week without any real sightings passed, then the second.

Every other day, Minerva and her knights met with new villages, whose inhabitants could give them a fresh update on the bandit’s habits and point her in the right direction.  
Each time they entered as strangers, they were met by a mixture of gratitude, hope and distrust. Minerva had not prepared to be so emotionally involved – all she had wanted was to protect and do her duty as a knight, but with the circlet around her head, it couldn’t be that simple. Every villager looked at her, expecting something _more_ , but what that was exactly, Minerva couldn’t figure out.

So she settled on the only thing came naturally to her – _stability_. She spoke loudly and clearly, and made formal introductions – she named her squad the _Whitewings_ , as a nod to Palla’s and Catria’s last name and the brilliant light color of their pegasi. The name stuck in the people’s minds enough to carry over to the next village they visited. Villagers they hadn’t met before shouted the name, looking at the three of them with awe.

Minerva noticed how Catria and Palla sat a little bit prouder when they got introduced in such a manner. It was subtle, but Minerva noticed nonetheless. Being out in the wilderness, always expecting to find danger, she found she could read them better than before. The formal airs around them eroded away ever so slowly, even around Palla. She’d shocked Minerva by waking her in the middle of the night, poking at her arm.

“Could you turn around, please? Your snoring keeps me awake.”

Minerva had been convinced she was dreaming, but Palla’s gentle frown was real. Minerva had only stared at her, before nodding speechlessly and turning on her side.  
She continued with her small informal remarks, until it no longer came as a surprise.

 

On their fifteenth day abroad, they’d met with a particularly skeptical elder in a village near the northeastern mountains. When they finally left, it was with great relief, their path leading them further north.

“That sure took its time”, Minerva said as they left the frustrating elder behind. “What do you suggest I do when they doubt my heritage _this_ much? And don’t say _sit quiet and make faces_ , Catria, that did not help last time.”

“Oh, I’ll inform them that they can always tell from your royal aroma”, Catria joked and drew in a deep breath close to Minerva’s face. “Mmmm, sweat, blood and wyvern dung. Unmistakeable.”

“Never mind, I’m going to ask you to focus on tracking before I rub _you_ in a pile of wyvern dung.”

“Catria, you forgot, it’s her princessly manners that's giving it away”, Palla put in, and angled her head with a teasing smile.

“Two against one is unfair, Palla.”

Minerva got a broader smile in return, before the knight once again looked ahead of her, her posture still the image of perfection despite their countless hours of travelling and sleeping on the ground.

Their rations were running thinner by the day, yet Catria was still humming quietly.

And to Minerva, every moment was a precious gem. She’d dreamt of this for so long, and although her childhood self had underrated the value of a comfortable bed, she knew she was where she belonged. The only unbearable thing was how much she missed Maria’s warm presence. She could picture her pacing the castle halls, her worry increasing for each day passing.

 _We can’t be far away now_ , Minerva thought, and just as it passed her mind, Catria signalled a stop, followed by _be quiet_ , before gesturing further up a cliffside a few miles west of them.

Minerva answered with a follow-command, and took the lead towards the cliff.

“I saw a glint of something”, Catria whispered over to her. “Could be steel.”

“Stay alert”, Minerva whispered back.

They inched closer, and when they were near enough to see the detail on a flapping tent-cloth, Minerva gave the other to fly. As soon as they were in the air, their moment of surprise would be short.

She had to make it count.

All three of them broke through the branches of the trees, Hauteclere ringing in the air as she loosened it from her belt.

From above, Minerva saw hundreds of faces look up to the skies, countless people scrambling for their weapons.

There was no doubt they’d reached the right place.

Her heart hammered in the rhythm of Titania’s wings. Their earlier bandit encounter was nothing compared to a band this size.

 _A soldier never hesitates_. Her thoughts took the form of Michalis voice, and she steeled herself.

“In the name of King Osmond of Macedon, surrender or die!”

Her attempt at diplomacy was met by angry grins and an arrow whirring past her ear. The sound flared a wild rush of blood to her head.

“ _Go_!”

She screamed as loud as her lungs would allow, Titania acting like an extension of herself as she too roared, causing the cliff to shiver.

Minerva’s blood was once again heated by an inner fire, making her sight narrower, her movements more powerful and imprecise. She missed an archer with one of her throwing axes, but one of Catria’s javelins ended him before he could nock another arrow.

Minerva circled their camp, just as she had been taught to get an overview of the situation, but that seemed a good idea only in theory. All she saw were axes swung after Titania’s feet, lances attempting to stab her and get her out of the saddle. Her thoughts only narrowed further to deflecting every danger and dealing as much damage as she could in response. Hauteclare sang a rumbling song of death inside of her, and she had no sense of time passing. Hadn’t once looked back to see how her friends were faring.  
She could only hear her own sounds of battle, and that made her heart sting of worry for a moment. Had she led them into death?  
She looked around her shoulder while Titania was on her way to higher air. Both Palla and Catria were up and flying, but her heart was hammering too fast for her to feel any relief.

She plunged down again, Titania’s jaws catching an enemy lance and snapping it in half, Minerva’s axe snapping the wielder.  
For the fraction of a moment, she saw Palla’s figure appear beside her.

Her face and arms were bruised and bleeding, and Minerva could not stop herself from halting at the sight. The next she knew was a stinging pain, rising up from her leg. She cried out and lashed blindly, feeling Hauteclare cut through something other than air. Furious, she continued to lash the axe around to get some space, before she regained her wits and ordered Titania upward to get a moment of relative peace. She scanned the area for any obvious archers, before looking down on her leg.

The back of her calf was covered in a ragged cut, blood seeping down over the lacerated leather of her boot.

Maria had always nagged to her about the importance of ‘always assessing the extent’ of an injury, but Minerva wasn’t about to wiggle her toes. Seeing her own blood only worked to focus her eyesight even more, distorting it into nothing but a tunnel. She lunged back down into the midst of sharp blades, flying in a straight line along the ground, not seeing the faces of the heads she aimed for. The pain pulsated, focusing her fury into an ice-cold core. Was she screaming? She must have been, her throat burned when she drew her breaths.

Her head felt thick.

She couldn’t stay down there for too long. She couldn’t let herself be grounded. She broke free from the locking parry of a sword and darted upwards.  
Titania stopped as they hovered outside the edge of the cliff, giving both of them time to breathe.

Minerva’s eyesight wobbled while she tried to locate Catria and Palla in the mess. She spotted them acting completely independent of her command, and if Minerva hadn’t been busy with her pain and dizzying fury, she’d be proud.

Catria had stopped targeting the archers, likely because she’d killed them all, and aimed for the bandits with axes instead. They weren’t too bothered; the ones remaining were skillful enough to deflect a spinning javelin by splitting them with their axes. Barbaric and with a risk for splinters, but still effective enough.  
Palla was flying low. Since most of the bandits wielded axes, Palla had a great advantage, but with the masses of them against just one of her, she couldn’t dodge and counter them all. Her left arm had become slower and sloppier than usual.

She was tiring.

 _I’m coming_ , Minerva thought fiery.

Just as she spurred Titania forward, Palla took a great blow to her breastplate, and she thrashed out of the saddle and slid along the Pegasus’ wing, making him rear and fly up into the air to avoid being chopped up by the same axe.

Minerva’s heart nearly stopped.

 _I’m coming_.

Titania moved with lighting speed, crushing the soldier closest to Palla with her jaws. She landed with her front legs on the respective sides of Palla’s body, her great tail smashing any attackers from the rear. Palla responded with giving an attacker from the side a quick stab in the leg, before Hauteclare split him in half.  
Although Minerva’s arms ached and the air didn’t quite reach her lungs, the fire inside her wasn’t weakening. Rather, it grew.

She wasn’t losing to leeches and murderers.

Luck was the only reason she noticed how the group of the last remaining threw aside their weapons, and crumbled to their knees.

Luck was the only reason she had time to still her axe before slicing them down in the rush of battle.

A battle that was... over. She glanced around, as the tunnel of her sight slowly widened.

There were five of the bandits still alive. Five out of about seventy, kneeling on the ground, hugging bleeding limbs.

“We surrender.”

She heard the voice of one of the five, and Hauteclere slowly sank to the side.

Palla’s Pegasus had landed beside Titania, still with whites showing but too loyal to leave its rider crouching under a dragonlike beast for too long. Palla crawled out from under Titania and climbed back up into the saddle with a gasp of frustration rather than pain. Minerva saw how she was trying her best to sit straight. She covered almost head to toe in small scrapes and bruises, her braid in a tangle, and her posture a bit lopsided. Yet to Minerva, she still looked absolutely terrifying and extraordinary.

Minerva hadn’t really planned ahead for anyone to actually surrender. Her minds gears slowly unravelling from the blockades of pain and heat, she could only blink at the small group. Where would she take the remaining bandits? What should she say? What would they even bind them with?

She didn’t get much time to think before the one who had spoken for the group raised her hands, a spark igniting out of the air around them. Sending it flying right at Minerva.  
Titania howled as the magical fire sprouted out around her chest.

“Easy girl”, Minerva tried to calm her, but it became a yelp of pain as the fire spread to her as well. Her muscles spasmed uncontrollably, she folded herself to try to ride out the burning roar inside, but it wouldn’t stop. She willed herself to look the bandit mage in the eye, saw her ready another spark.  
Her eyes widened. She tried to order Titania to get airborne again, but she didn’t respond, only thrashed at the rains, eyes bulging.

The horrifying flare blinded Minerva, but this time, she felt nothing.

She looked ahead, expecting to have the pain scorch her insides again any moment, but the flames weren’t around her. It was surrounding Palla, like a violent halo. She and her Pegasus had leapt in between Minerva and the mage, the blaze engulfing her completely.

“Palla, no!” Minerva cried at her, but to her surprise, the knight was still sitting in the same lopsided way. Her Pegasus did not rear away from the pain. It put its ears back, but not much else.

Sometime, along the years, Minerva remembered that her mother had told her of the greatest gains of being a Pegasus knight. Aside from their great speed and keen instincts, pegasi were creatures of magic and had an innate resilience to magical attacks, a resilience that now protected Palla as well as the Pegasus absorbed every fickle flame.

As the flames died down, Minerva dared another look at the mage, and found the head of the attacker be struck into the stone floor by a sharp spear through her neck.

“That’s _not_ how you surrender”, Catria yelled as she retreated her spear, ready to stab the other four to death as well.

Minerva drew a deep breath, her ears still ringing. “Hold, Catria.”

She had killed dozens in the wake of just this hour alone, and in a battle-sober moment, Minerva realized she didn’t want more of it than was necessary.  
Her charred body hungered for vengeance, their pain for hers. But her mind was clearing, and she wouldn’t move. She would do what she had to liberate the people she’d sworn to protect – but murdering four beaten, unarmed prisoners wasn’t right. Every Macedonan citizen deserved a fair trial, bandit or no.

She bent backwards although her calf protested, dug around her saddle bags until she found a rope of acceptable length. She threw it to Catria.

“I stand by my word.”

Catria sheathed her spear behind her back, looking down on the prisoners with narrow eyes.

“Just so we’re clear; if any of you tries anything, I will kick you in the teeth.”

Two of the bandits nodded and hunched down. Catria made quick work of binding them, her hunting skills once again having a chance to shine.  
Minerva finally felt her shoulders relax again. Her first thought was that Maria would be proud of her for taking the risk of mercy, her second that she would soon be there to tell her herself.

 _We’re going home_.

The first thing she’d do was bathe. She’d almost forgotten the feeling of skin that wasn’t covered in crackled, dry mud.

Catria had tied the bandits to the back of Mara’s saddle, one line of rope connecting all four of them. One of them glanced up at Minerva, his eyes glossy from tears.

“I swear you’ll face a fair trial”, Minerva said to them, her voice hoarse. Some part of her still wanted them dead, but mostly she found that she was saddened by whatever world that had birthed their criminal ways. And that sorrow was nothing but tiring.

Palla interrupted her exhausted thoughts by dismounting and saluting her, still a bit lopsided. She walked toward her and Titania with a slight limp.

“Were you injured, your highness?”

Minerva regarded her in silence for a moment, trying to feel if there was something that _wasn’t_ painful right then.

“I... suppose so”, she answered finally. She tried to dismount as well, but she had to lift her left leg with her hands to put it all the way over Titania’s back. Palla put up her hands, signalling her to stop, so Minerva remained sitting side-saddle while Palla examined the injury. She carefully lifted the edges of the bloodied, charred boot.

“It’s not pretty. Did this happen when you were protecting me?”

“In a sense.”

Palla didn’t look at her as she pulled out a bandage from her saddlebag. “It was awfully reckless of you, your highness. “

Minerva could only blink. “What are you— Wait, no, _that_ went fine, it happened before then, when I was looking for you to see if you were alive.”

Palla glanced up at her from under her eyelids. “That’s _worse_ , your highness. It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around. I am a soldier. I am always ready to die for my duty, and you should be ready to sacrifice. You cannot lose your composure even if your subjects are in danger. I refuse to be the reason you come to harm.”

Minerva crossed her arms. The movement burned in her ribs.

She couldn’t find anything to say. Palla’s words were so much like her sword strikes, calculated, direct and painful.

“I will consider it”, she answered finally, as Palla had bound her leg so tightly she couldn’t feel her toes. “And I will probably consider it worth being reckless, just so we’re clear. I’m not going to sit by and watch if you’re about to die, not if I can do something to stop it.”

Palla pursed her lips. “That’s nice of you, but it doesn’t make my job easy.”

“I suppose I am pretty difficult, yeah.”

Palla pointed up at her, half smiling. “Don’t you dare.” She put her hands on her hips, and her face grew serious again. “I won’t waste any more of your time, your highness. I fear your leg might shrivel if you wait too long to see a healer. No magic can reverse the irreversible. You need to get back to the royal healers as soon as possible. You go ahead of us – we can’t fly with these bandits attached anyway, so if we go to the closest village and leave them there, we’ll—”

“Hold on”, Minerva interrupted her. “Have you seen your own injuries? I can’t leave you like this!”

Palla straightened, her face failing to hide a short grimace of pain. “It can wait. I’ll see whatever village-healer exists when we arrive there. I will not leave Catria alone with four prisoners, and I _will not_ be to blame for giving you lifelong hardships by having you stay in my place.” She pointed up at Minerva again. “You go. Now.”

“I’m the one who gives orders around here, you know”, Minerva mumbled at her, but dragged her leg back so she sat astraddle once more.

Palla smiled at that and patted Titania’s front leg. “May the wind be at your back, Commander. I will see you soon.”


	9. Complete

Minerva had barely had time to close her eyes before the door to the castle infirmary was flung open. She was met by an angry grunt, and in the next moment, a warm, clumsy hug.

“Maria. Hey.” Minerva put her arms around her sister best she could while lying on her back with her leg hung up in the air. Maria’s soothing aura of Earth magic wrapped around Minerva like a warm blanket, but she could tell by the tenseness how angry Maria was. She didn’t let go for a long minute, but Minerva didn’t mind at all. She didn’t want her to.

“I really missed you”, Maria said finally, through her teeth.

“I missed you too.”

“I’m mad at you.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Why?”

Maria let go and put a hand on Minerva’s left knee. Despite her frustration, her touch and movements were still so gentle.

“Your insides were disturbed from _fire magic_ , and had another day passed, no healer could have saved your leg! You’ve been so lucky Sister Giri was in town, because no one else could have restored your leg to full function.”

Sister Giri was unusually grumpy for a healer, a mercenary cleric with expertise in muscle and tendons, which was, after all, what other mercenaries had most need for when out in the field. The cleric had spent the entire healing session with Minerva telling her how she didn’t want to be there, that she was missing a mission and that the pay she got for her work by the royal household was nothing compared to the ‘great loot’ she missed out on. Then she’d moved on to list her most recently acquired riches, smirking as she did. Minerva would rather be chopped by an axe again than stay in a room with Sister Giri for five more minutes.

“I know I was lucky”, she answered Maria. “It could have been worse, though.”

Maria put her hands on her hips, her red eyes glistening. “Don’t _say_ that!”

She breathed in to say something more, but stopped herself when a small voice was heard in the hallway.

“Hey, Maria”, the voice whispered. “Can I come in?” Est’s face peeped inside from the door opening, and seeing Minerva, she didn’t wait for an answer. She took a few quick steps inside, fidgeting with her fingers while glancing at Minerva’s leg.

“Hi, princess”, she mumbled. The infirmary had always made Est nervous, even though stabbing dummies with the lance and skinning squirrels didn’t budge her.  
Maria’s face softened at the sight of her friend, and she put her arm under Est’s to comfort her.

Minerva smiled at her best she could. “Hello, Est.”

The girl glanced out into the hallway, hugging Maria’s arm tightly. “I just wanted to, um, know where Palla is.”

“Palla and Catria are both fine”, Minerva said with as much conviction she could muster. She hoped she spoke the truth, but to her surprise, she wasn’t worried she’d be wrong.  _I trust them_.

“They just needed to stop by another village”, Minerva continued. “But I couldn’t come with them because Palla said I needed to heal. Seems she was right, but she usually is, isn’t she?”

Est relaxed a bit. “So, um, they’re not in here, then?”

“No.”

“Alright. That’s good.”

“Yeah. You’ll see – they’ll be back soon enough.”

Maria leaned forwards a bit, fixing her eyes on Minerva. “When they do”, she said, “you won’t be doing any more of your knight-things. You could be hurt again, or worse. I won’t allow it.”

Despite the serious tone, Minerva couldn’t help smiling a crooked smile. “I’m sorry for making you worry, Maria. But I will return there. That Northern Border is under my protection now. I won’t rest until they’re at peace again, and I want to make every bandit quiver in their boots when they hear I’m coming for them.”

\---

Although the bandits' quivering would have to wait.

Two days later Minerva had gotten up on crutches, and was hopping clumsily across the castle courtyards.

Maria and Est were following close by. Est described her most recent bravado in training with master Pilas, and she swung her arms around wildly and ran across the grounds like a Pegasus on spring meadows.

“Maria, can I borrow your healing staff?” she panted as she ran toward them again. “I need a _lance_ to show you two my new attack stance! I promise I won’t break it!”

Maria stroked her staff, tilting her head. “Are you sure of it this time?”

“Ye-es, I’m sorry about the other one, I messed up.”

Maria smiled mildly, and was just about to give her staff to Est when she froze and angled her head up to the sky. Est frowned, turned her own head around.  
Minerva saw their smiles before she saw her knights.

Two pegasi soared down and disappeared behind the stables. There was no mistaking them for anyone else, she’d recognize Palla’s graceful turns and Catria’s calculated lunges anywhere.

A warm chill travelled up her spine, enclosing her heart in soft light. After weeks of constantly being in their presence, two days had felt oddly eternal without them.

Minerva hopped as fast as she possibly could on her crutches, but Est quickly ran past her, whooping loudly.

Maria kept the same pace as Minerva, seemingly trying to slow down further. Her eyes worried.

Perhaps she thought this meant Minerva would be leaving again.

Minerva didn’t know how to explain to her, that it was terrible to part from her but she still wouldn’t just stay home. She’d tried to console her multiple times during her days of recovery, but every time she brought it up again, a panicked look ignited in Maria’s eyes, her gaze darting to Minerva’s bandaged calf.  
She got no more time to think about what to say, as her thoughts seemed to freeze at the sight of her knights on the castle grounds.

Palla had dismounted, and lifted Est into her arms, spinning her around. She looked whole, the bruises on her arms and face no longer visible, her smile so wonderfully wide.

“Oh, look at you now, Commander!” Catria flung herself off her Pegasus with stiff legs, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “All clean and everything.” She extended her arms toward Minerva. “How about a _hug_?”

Both of her knights looked like they were more dirt than human, but Minerva didn’t care. She smiled wide.

“ _Actually_ , yes!” She let go of her crutches and tumbled into Catria’s embrace instead, laughing at how her clean skin immediately felt grimy and rough as gravel. Catria nearly tipped backwards, but she laughed too.

“Oh, how I missed the smell of soap! And you too, Commander, a lil’ bit at least.”

Minerva snorted and cast a glance in Palla’s direction. The knight had just let go of Est, who jumped up and down in front of her, babbling so quickly it was impossible to keep track of what she was saying.

Palla said something back to her, before her eyes found Minerva's. Where she’d usually looked away with wider eyes, this time, she maintained the contact.

Minerva let go of Catria with one arm, and offered it to Palla.

Palla’s head shot back a little at that, before she smiled, and stepped forward to join in, putting her arm over Minerva’s shoulders.

Her movements stiff, but Minerva felt her relax into the embrace.

“Hello, your highness”, she said. She looked as though she was trying to hold her smile back, but it kept twitching at her lips. “It relieves me to see you well.”

“You’re one to talk”, Minerva shot back.

Palla grinned, but got no time to answer her.

“Heads up, Palla!” Est jumped up on Palla’s back from behind, causing her to let out a hard exhale.

“ _Oof_ — Est, you’re a bit heavier than you were when you were three, you know.”

“That's because I train aaaaall day”, Est answered in a sing-song voice, adjusting herself on Palla’s back. “Now you gotta tell me; did you beat some baddies, like, sweeping in a triangle formation and plunging down on them with thunder on your side? I bet you were so quick they never even had a chance to _see_ you!”

“That’s not how battles work”, Catria said and stuck out her tongue at Est.

Est stuck out her tongue back at her. “They will when _I’m_ in the field!”

Palla bounced Est on her back carefully. “There’s no hurry for that, Potato pie.”

Minerva stood silently, treasured these moments in her heart. The sound of their voices, the feeling of being huddled together in the smelliest embrace in existence – it put every other reunion to shame.

Although there was something missing. She turned her head to Maria, who was standing on the side, still smiling but with the glint of worry even more visible in her eyes.  
Minerva found her own brightness dull a little at that. Should she say something now? She couldn’t think of anything, not with all this happiness around her.  
She let go of Catria, opened the circle for her to join.

“Maria, come”, she smiled at her. Maria hugged her staff in her hands, uncertainly bending her head.

“Um, should I? I mean, I’m not in your squad, exactly—”

“Yes you are”, Catria bellowed from the circle. “You’re in the _sister squad_! Get in here, lil’ sister-princess!”

Maria stood stunned for a moment, but then she stepped forward with a shy smile. She tiptoed into the messy embrace. Minerva gently placed her arm over her shoulders, and Est leaned down to rustle her hair.

“I told you”, Est whooped. “You’re like _my_ little sister too!”

Maria giggled, brushing the hair out of her eyes and leaving smears of dirt on her cheeks. “I’m still half a year older than you, Est.”

“Just you wait, I’ll catch up one day!”

“That’s not how ages work”, Catria began, but got interrupted by Est’s crying out.

“Yes, they do! Stop telling me how things work all the time!”

Palla chuckled quietly, and Minerva noticed how she closed her eyes, as if she too, was treasuring every heartbeat of this moment. She looked so perfectly calm, under all the layers of dirt.

It was Catria that broke free first, putting her hands on her hips. “Alright lovelies, as much as I like seeing your cute faces again, I have a very important appointment in the academy – in the _canteen_.”

“I want to go too”, Est whined from Palla’s back. Palla let out a short laugh.

“The food isn’t that fantastic, Est.”

“Compared to week-old dried meat, it is!” Catria grinned. “Too bad I’ll graduate soon. I’ll miss their sloppy soups. Well, I’m off!”

“Please tell me you’ll bathe first”, Palla said, and let go of Minerva.

“If you can catch me, I will!” With that, Catria darted away from the stables.

“Are you _five years old_?” Palla yelled after her, but she was laughing. The sound hit Minerva like the delicate harmony of bells.

During all this time, quiet chuckles were all that she believed Palla was capable of, but apparently, Maria wasn’t the only one that could brighten the world with her laughter.

\---

Catria’s graduation was held at the academy, as it usually was. Seeing the academy’s duelling stage again was bittersweet. Last time Minerva had been there, she hadn’t known any of the Graywing sisters, which was almost impossible for her to imagine. She felt as though they’d always been a part of her life.

So many things were different. She was the only royal attending, with Palla standing in attention behind her in the seat of honor. And she was acknowledged, old masters bowing their heads and graduates regarding her with wide, sparkling eyes. Catria stood in the middle of it all, smiling her mischievous smile at her and Palla. She held her eyes toward their seat, even as she said the vows, and she wasn’t alone. Many young knights gazed directly onto their princess with their heads held high as their voices said the final vow as one. Minerva whispered the words along the rest of them.

_Honor to the kingdom, servitude to the king._

That a few words could mean so much. The pride of a whole nation, and the pride of Minerva. She glanced behind her to see Palla’s reaction. The knight didn’t notice her. She was smiling, cheeks shimmering humbly while her eyes were fixed only on Catria.

If Minerva felt pride for Macedon, it seemed meager in comparison to the pride she saw on Palla’s face that day.

\---

The bandit trial was held a week after the Whitewings’ return, and Minerva was prompted by her father to be present. Her merits were to be seen by the public eye, it was only proper for her to sit by the table of judgement.

She had never been inside the trial hall before, and sitting in front of such a mass of people was a bit overwhelming. She was glad she wasn’t sitting in the middle of the table of judgement like her father, but at the far end of it, beside Michalis.

As the four bandits were placed before them in the middle of the hall, Minerva found it difficult to look at them. She couldn’t quite settle on why.

“I cannot believe you spared them”, she heard whispered from her left. She glanced at Michalis, who sat straight and proper, but his face as impassive as if he was resting his chin in his hand over a boring book.

“They surrendered”, she whispered back. “I did what every knight would.”

Michalis scoffed at her. “You gave them a chance to stab you in the back, is what you did. You’re lucky they were such cowards.”

 _Not all_ , Minerva thought, the memory of burning pain still fresh in her mind. She shook it off by keeping her eyes on her brother.

“Are you saying I should have killed them when they were defenceless?”

“I thought I taught you better. A soldier never hesitates. Mercy is just a glorified form of hesitation.”

Minerva wrinkled her nose, and looked back ahead of her. The bandits were hunched over, and they all stared into the ground with wide eyes. King Osmond was still reading charges with an amplified voice, so no one would be able to hear hers and Michalis conversation.

“That’s not what they taught at the academy”, she muttered back to him. “Mercy is what sets a knight apart from a savage murderer.”

“Wouldn’t killing them be more merciful than a life in the dungeons? If you stopped to think – something you never do.”

She glared at him. “It’s not my decision to make for them”, she hissed back. He rolled his eyes.

“Perfect excuse for someone who enjoys playing a hero.”

Minerva clutched her hands into fists under the table. “What’s your _issue_ , brother? I’m just doing my duty!”

“Ugh. Whatever you say. But it’ll get to your head. Mark my words, sister dear.”

She didn’t say anything else, sitting with her back straight but sizzling on the inside. She followed the trial, focusing on anything other than Michalis, but as a few more minutes passed, she heard his voice again.

“So, you’re going back up north soon?”

She didn’t look at him, but her eyes narrowed at his words. “What’s it to you?”

She saw him shrug in the corner of her eyes. “I suppose it’s good to know.”

To her relief, he ignored her for the rest of the trial.


	10. Family Dinner

On her fifteenth nameday, Minerva didn’t celebrate. She was busy at the northern border.

Much had happened since the first time they set foot there, two years past. The bandit raids were rare and more often than not small enough so that the villagers themselves could kick them out of their land, and if not, Minerva and her squad were graciously welcomed by cheers and a pointing in the direction of the bandits.  
The word had gotten around, enough to earn her a name in the entire kingdom.

 _Princess Minerva, the Fearless Protector, and her brilliant, trusty Whitewings_ , they said.

Minerva found it easy to embrace. That reputation alone might mean the end of the northern raids for good.

 

As the years passed, Maria had finally accepted Minerva’s journeys as something she couldn’t’ talk her out of. She still hugged Minerva extra tightly before she left on her missions, and she was always the first to slam the stable doors open when she and the Whitewings returned – but as Maria grew, the glint of worry that had been in her eyes so many times before was slowly being replaced by a light of determination. Minerva caught her sitting by the fireplace on her free evenings, reading up on military strategy, books that should be much too complicated for a ten-year-old to understand. She was almost always asleep over the pages when Minerva found her, but she was making progress, each night she’d gotten a few pages further.

“I need to understand what you’re doing, so I can be of help someday”, she explained to Minerva the first time she was awake enough to notice Minerva wrapping her cloak over her shoulders.

“Divines, Maria”, Minerva answered gently. “I don’t think I want you out there. Battles are horrid things.”

“You engage in them all the time.”

“Because I have dedicated my life to it.” Minerva rubbed her shoulders under the fur mantle to warm her. “Your path is different. Let it be so.”

Maria smiled weakly back at her. “I still want to be able to help you. Though maybe not _in_ a battle.” She closed the book, pushed it away. “There seems to be a lot more to warfare than just waving weapons around. I’m reading up on strategies to keep oneself safe. I could teach them to you one day, I hope. These things would be fascinating, if it wasn’t so frightening.”

Minerva crouched down beside her. “You needn’t do this, Maria. You should be having fun, playing with Est, learning from master Talia – not worrying about me.”

Maria rested her chin in her hand. “Perhaps I don’t need to, but I still want to. But”, she added, “I do want to have some fun too. I want _us_ to do something nice together.” She smiled wider. “Now that you’ve been home for a while, I’ve been thinking of something even Michalis can join in – let’s have a _family dinner_ again!”

They hadn’t had one properly since the death of Queen Fridh.

“Sounds lovely, but I doubt Michalis would want to”, Minerva frowned. “But you could ask him, sure.”

“I will!” Maria beamed. “Also, I was thinking we should introduce our friends to him and papa properly! We could all bring friends! I’ll bring Est, and your Whitewings can sit with you! I’ll tell Michalis he has to bring someone as well – that will be so fun, we’ll get to meet one of Michalis’ friends!”

Maria was so excited, Minerva didn’t want to ruin it by saying ' _I don’t think Michalis HAS any friends_ '. Being of royal lineage made one isolated, Minerva had been so lucky to have met her Whitewings. But perhaps it was best to give Michalis the benefit of the doubt. He usually succeeded in everything he partook, so why not in making friends?

“Yeah”, Minerva said vaguely. “You do that.”

\---

The day after, they were all assembled around the dinner table. Maria clasped her hands excitedly.

“I’m so glad we could do this, all of us!”

Michalis was glaring at the lot of them from under his forelocks. “I thought this was supposed to be the revival of our old family dinners. Why are _they_ here?” He cast a poisonous look at Palla, Catria and Est.

Maria laughed her precious laugh. “I told you we’d all bring a friend, did you forget?”

Michalis said nothing, eyes fixed on Maria while she continued by gesturing at Est.

“This is my friend, Est!”

“Your Highness!” Est bowed clumsily in her chair. Her courtesy had improved somewhat since Minerva had first met her, but not by much.

“And that’s papa’s friend", Maria continued, all in the same breath, "You know weapon's master Pilas of course! And Minerva brought her two friends – that’s Catria and that’s Palla! But since you didn’t bring anyone, maybe you can have Palla as your friend for this dinner!”

Minerva glanced to her right, tried to catch Palla’s eye, but she was busy saluting Michalis.

“No thank you”, Michalis hissed, looking away. “I don’t have any friends and I don’t want them, especially not some common rabble.”

King Osmond twisted a little at that, with a careful glance at his son. “Michalis, don’t be rude... We can do this again with you more prepared if you’d like. Weren’t you friends with princess Nyna? We could send a formal invite to the Archanean palace—“

Michalis stared back at the king, eyes cold as death. “Why would she ever bother to come here? She’s busy basking in glory – and we’re not _friends_! She hasn’t even looked at me sideways for _years_.”

“Son, I’m sorry, I only wanted to—“

“Spare me your well-meaning, father. And spare me your company, all of you!”

The door out of the dining room slammed shut. Catria and Est jerked at the sound.

“Yeesh”, Catria muttered.

 _Great_ , Minerva thought. _We didn’t even get the food served before he left_.

King Osmond had stood up as well, seemed at a loss of where to go.

“I’m sorry”, he said distractedly. “Maria, this was a good idea, but, um, let’s... Let’s try this some other time. Please excuse me.”

He left, leaving Pilas fidgeting with a fork. He sat in silence until the food arrived, then picked up a large portion for himself and another to the king before he hurried after his friend. He acknowledged the women at the table with a short nod, and then he was gone.

“Well”, Palla attempted to say in a jesting voice. “I’ve never been too keen on socializing, anyhow.”

Maria shook her head, blinking tears out of her eyes. “Palla, I’m sorry— How could Michalis be so mean?”

Catria stabbed a chicken’s leg with her knife, bringing it to her plate. “Don’ worry about it, lil’ sis. He’s right, we are common rabble. Nothin’ to be insulted by. If he doesn’t like it, it’s his problem.”

Maria wasn’t touching her food. “I thought he’d be... Glad.”

Minerva decided it was time to step in. She leaned over to Maria. “I’m sure he _was_ glad you wanted to do this with him. He showed up, after all, you know? Maybe he was too distracted by his studies to catch the part about friends – and feeling like an outsider is never fun.”

“He could have at least _tried_ ”, Maria muttered, resting her head on Est’s shoulder. “This was a terrible idea.”

“Maria, no”, Minerva reassured her. “It was great. Let’s try again some other time, alright?”


	11. For Maria

There never was a second attempt.

 

Michalis progressively isolated himself from the rest of his family; it was only rarely he showed up to council meetings at all, something that he never would have missed a few years ago.

Minerva stopped caring after a while. Michalis had gone long periods of time without giving anyone the light of day before, but while he’d been stoic then, now he seemed agitated underneath. Clenched his teeth at the sight of her. Hissed at Maria to leave him alone. Their father had repeated the phrase ' _teenage rowdiness'_  as an explanation for his behavior at least a thousand times, even though Michalis wasn’t a teenager anymore; his twenty-first nameday had passed months ago.

As for Minerva, she got to celebrate her sixteenth nameday at home for a change. The celebration was unnecessarily big, but her father had insisted - she’d spent the nameday before on the northern border, after all.

Part of the celebration meant flying out into town to greet her citizens. The children waved and the adults smiled, at one point a group started a chant of _Fearless Protector_ as she passed them by. While the popularity did grow on her, she remembered Michalis words on the matter. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting the reputation go to her head, so she remained humble. When anyone mentioned the high regard the people had for her, she told them she was simply grateful that she could help the citizens and contribute to maintaining peace.

They could nod disbelievingly however much they liked at that. She preferred to prove herself on the battlefields, not at court. But the chances to do so became fewer and fewer as there had been no reports of raids in the north for a year.

 

Thus, she found it strange that Palla one day hurriedly knocked on her door as she was playing Tactician’s Wood Board with Maria (she was losing and didn't mind the interruption). She found it even stranger that Palla reported that a messenger from the north awaited her in the great hall. Strange or not, she left the game unfinished and followed her friend through the corridors.

 

They were met by a young man who paced the hall and wrung his hands, occasionally he let out small groans. He was out of breath, and covered in small wounds.

“Fearless Protector”, he said with his hand over his heart in a salute. “I came as quickly as I could! Just this morning, my entire village was devastated by a massive raid! They killed _everyone_! I just narrowly got away myself, but I stayed long enough to see the bandits separate – one group went to the east and the other to the west. I suspect they were two different bands, cooperating! Oh, this is terrible— _terrible_ —”

Minerva frowned at this. Why would this happen now? The border had been quiet for so long.

Perhaps they’d just been lying low, as Palla suggested when Minerva discussed it with her. She even said it was _probable_.

That convinced Minerva that they should at least investigate the matter.

\---

They reached the charred ruins of a village the emissary had described after a day’s flight, and then separated. Palla and Catria turned west and Minerva to the east. Scouting on their own was nothing new; they’d been separated on many missions before and done excellently still. Whatever they’d face when they found the bandits, Minerva was certain they could handle it.

But after a few days time, Minerva was bored from being alone. The days passed by, and she found nothing. Not a trace, not a villager that had seen anything. Whoever these bandits were, they had to be skilled to disappear like that. A foe she did not want to roam the borderlands. They hadn’t bested her – she wasn't giving up. The days becoming longer as summer reached its peak, its hours ticking by ever so slowly.

She was getting provisions from a farm on the outskirts of a village when a new emissary arrived. Like the first that had arrived at the castle, this one was also out of breath, her horse drenched in sweat.

“Fearless Protector!” she gasped. “Princess! I’ve been going from village to village looking for you! I carry grave news!”

The emissary drew a deep breath.

“Yesterday, king Osmond was assassinated by Archanea.”

Minerva stared at her, a sheet of ice freezing her heart. Her arms let go of the supplies, and she barely noticed.

“Repeat message”, she choked out.

“The king is dead, your highness.”

Her chest tightened, her breath stuck in her chest.

“The palace needs you, princess”, the emissary panted. “Please make haste.”

Minerva wasn’t listening anymore. She mounted Titania with mechanical movements and took off into the air without looking back.

She urged Titania forward, barely letting her rest for the entire journey. She found it hard to see, but she knew the way home, even as her head was spinning.

She did not return to her Whitewings. The only thing she was set on was reaching the castle. When Titania needed to rest her wings, Minerva continued on foot, jogging in front of her with the reins. Then she ushered her to fly once again, as soon as she was able.

“I’m so sorry”, she whispered repeatedly, knowing Titania couldn’t hear or understand her. But the wyvern must have sensed her fear and stress, she pressed on without complaints. Titania was a proud beast, and would rather succumb to wounds caused by exhaustion than to exhaustion itself.

 

When she reached the castle, she went to such great lengths as to let one of the stable-children care for Titania while she herself continued into the castle. The hallways echoing from her running steps.

She tried to remember if she had felt equally sickly when her mother had passed, but she doubted it. Minerva had been young, the farewell expected. A cruel robbery of life, but not quickly torn away like a rug from under her feet. So quick, it couldn't be true.

The feeling of surrealism didn’t leave her, even as she broke through the door to the royal quarters and saw her father lie lifeless, tucked in bed with pale hands resting on his chest. It worsened.

He had been strong. Old, yet strong enough to rule for at least ten more years.

But here Minerva crouched by his side with too many things to say to him. Meaningless words that he could not hear. So she sat quiet, her hand holding on to his arm. Her eyes fixed on the sheets, trying to ease the tightness in her chest by breathing deeply, but no air seemed to come. She barely noticed time passing, much less did she notice when Michalis entered the room.

“You came much earlier than I expected”, he greeted her. Her neck craned automatically to look up at him, but her lips could form no answer. It was irrelevant in either case.

“How did he die?” That was the only question of importance.

“Poisoned dagger”, her brother answered, putting his arms around his back. “Archanea be damned.”

Archanea. Courtly intrigues always seemed to pass Minerva by, so she couldn’t come up with a single reason why Archanea would be threatened by Macedon – not more than any other nation. Macedon was always peaceful, had never quarreled in international matters.

“Why?”

“The scum wants domination of the entire continent; it’s not exactly a secret, sister. They have always wanted to expand their empire, but that they’d sink so low as to use assassins – we never could have guessed.” Michalis shook his head.

They stayed quiet for a while. Minerva because she couldn’t find any words, Michalis because he was busy restlessly moving about. Similar to the emissary who had carried the news from the north, Michalis walked around the room, muttered things to himself, stared out the window, then back at Minerva, then down to the floor. Minerva had never really seen him grieve, but maybe this was his way of coping with loss. Honestly, she didn't really care.

Michalis made a turn so suddenly, Minerva couldn’t help jolting back a little. With his gaze pinned on her, Michalis took a few hesitant steps toward her before he stopped, sighed and crossed his arms. Every hint of hesitation was gone from his expression.

“You know, father was quite a weak ruler”, he said, tapping his fingers on his pauldron. “I would say I am sorry to offend his good name, but I know I speak the truth. And father was always very keen on raising honest children, wasn’t he, sister?”

Minerva looked at him with disbelief. “Weak?” Her voice shook with tears, and her brother’s well-armored figure was blurry before her eyes. She wiped them with the back of her hand. “How could you say such things in his presence?”

“Don’t be dull. Archanea has been pushing us around because of his gullible weakness – we, the ruler of the skies! They should be looking up as we cloud the sun and tremble!” He’d leaned forwards as he yelled, but he returned to the same neutral stance as before almost immediately.

“Father never realized our potential”, he continued. “He preferred staying in this gods-forgotten corner of our world, playing house.”

The tears began to cloud Minerva’s vision again. “How dare you speak of the things he valued in such a way?” she said as she dried her eyes. “Father knew family was most important.”

“It’s funny you should say that.” Michalis voice was cold as ice. “Well. I suppose we have to agree to disagree, sister dear. But let us speak of another matter. Your mission – I suspect you found the bandit cavern?”

Minerva was struck by a sudden chill from how casually her brother changed the subject. “I… No. I didn’t.”

“Unlike bandits to be that elusive. Are you losing your edge, perhaps?”

Minerva ignored his remark, kissed her father’s hand, and stood.

“Has Maria come to see him yet?” she asked. She knew how devastating the loss must be for Maria, assumed that she had shut herself in her rooms. Minerva hoped she could provide at least some comfort to her.

“Ah, yes”, Michalis said, casting a bored glance out the window. “Two days ago.”

Minerva nodded, then stirred. “The message said he died _yesterday_?”

“Indeed. I asked Maria for help in a pressing matter, but don’t worry, she got to kiss him goodbye before she left.”

“Pressing matter?” Minerva’s hand slowly clasped the handle of Hauteclare. “She’s barely twelve and not a soldier; what _pressing matters_ could she possibly attend to?”

Michalis folded his hands behind his back. “She might be more important to Macedon’s politics than you know.” He turned and opened the door out of the royal quarters. “Let’s talk in the throne room. This is such a depressing place.”

Without looking back at her, he walked down the stairs. Minerva heard his armored boots echo in the hallways.  
Her head spun and her left side slowly tightened into an aching knot.

 _Why had Maria left? How could father die without any assassin being caught? Why was Michalis acting like a stranger?_ In the midst of sorrow, she had a hard time discriminating her emotions, but was rather surprised to feel… fear. It nagged at the corners of her mind, but she choked it down. Following Michalis would be the wisest thing to do. He’d been in the castle the whole time. He’d have answers.

She rushed after him and found him waiting by the half-open door to the throne room. His eyes seemed to shine, but at the same time, they were like the eyes of a corpse. Rotting into indifference. He raised a brow at her before entering. Minerva’s fear grew louder in her ears as she went inside. Her hand steady on her axe’s hilt.

“Michalis.” She stopped at arm’s length from him, watched him stroke the armrest on the throne. “Where is Maria?”

“Who can say?” He avoided her gaze, but she saw the spark in his eyes intensify.

Hauteclare lifted an inch from Minerva’s back. “You can. You sent her. You know. And you will tell me, right this second.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come now, anything could happen to a naive child out on the road. Luckily”, he said, raising a finger, “she’s in good company. And I told her that I did not doubt her bold sister would save her out of any hardships she might... Find herself in. Pity I cannot tell you where exactly she might be, but I have a vague idea.”

The axe snapped out of her belt, and she swung it towards his chest. He had seen the blow coming, of course, and backed away. They knew exactly how the other fought. She stepped forward with the axe in an attacking position.

“Cut the crap and tell me right away”, she hissed through new tears. “And tell me I got the wrong idea about you just now.”

“Dear _me_ , Minerva, I did not expect you to catch on this fast.” Michalis seemed at least a little bit startled from her swing, but there was mostly a newly awakened glare of irritation in his face. “Patience and I’ll tell you. Maria left by her own free will. You know I could never harm her. Regretfully there are others who might, if you force their hand. Although they’ll not need to.” He smiled slightly. “I told her not to be afraid, because the _Fearless Protector_ will keep her alive with all her might. Won’t you, Minerva?”

There were so many words, Minerva felt like half of them just bounced off her skull. “I cannot protect her if you don’t tell me where she is!”

“Oh. Never mind, you don’t seem to have caught on at all. Your dullness must be enhanced from grief. No matter. Listen, now – Maria is safe, but every moment your axe is raised to strike at me, she is moments closer to joining our father. Do you understand?”

The blood rushed in Minerva’s head and whooshed past her ears, but she had heard him. The difficult part was for her to wrap her mind around what his words meant.

“This is to avoid any unnecessary conflict between the two of us”, Michalis continued. “I’d _hate_ to quarrel with you, Minerva, this is simply… A precaution. Maria’s keepers need to hear from me in a way that is only known to them and to me. Should they not receive a message from me – or a foolish attempt of a false one, mind you – they will send Maria’s head in a basket right at your feet. Unattached. In case that was unclear to you.”

Whatever rationality Minerva had managed to maintain was smothered by a giant wave of fear. Drowning all her thoughts, all she could hear was the blood in her ears and her pulse hammering _enemy, enemy, enemy_ with each beat.

She cried out. Her body acted on its own accord.

Michalis was quick on his feet and the only thing that was harmed was the throne as a huge gash nearly split it in two. Wooden splinters rained down on the floor as she readied her follow-up attack.

“Listen to me, you savage!” He avoided maiming by a thin margin. “Whatever you do to me will be done to Maria! You hurt me, you hurt her! You kill me, _you kill her_!” He was pinned against the wall, now, just another blow— “You’ll murder Maria, you violent cretin! Minerva, _stop_!”

She managed to put her head above the surface of the storming sea that was her mind for a brief second. Enough to have Michalis words cracking through the stormy clouds.  
_Kill Michalis, Maria dies_.

Hauteclere stilled over her head.

Michalis was breathing hard. “Put your axe down. On the floor.”

Her hands were almost glued to the hilt, but somehow she managed to loosen her fingers. Hauteclare fell with a dull thud against the red carpet.

“Thank you for seeing reason.” Michalis straightened, trying his best to sound unaffected by her violent outburst.

“Because of our familial bond, I will excuse you in your… _confused state_ and Maria will be spared any repercussions for your actions. After all, I wish to be nothing but a gracious king. How _ever_ ”, he grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye, “from here on out, any tiny misstep – any _hint_ of rebellion from you and Maria will pay the price. Sneeze in a way I don’t like and I swear the sister you love will be no more. Your loyalty will be to me and my superior allies, no matter the task. If I order you to chop off your legs, you will. If I order you to cut Titania down and cook her as a meal for Gallius, you _will_. Am I making myself clear?”

He waited for a response, she realized. But how could she form words? She felt surreal, as if her body was no longer hers.

“Yes, sire.” She could still taste the bile on those words, even after they left her tongue.

Michalis smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “You do catch on quickly when you try.” He bent down and lifted Hauteclare, weighing it in his hands. “Let’s talk politics, like a prince and princess should.”

She was frozen in place, but willed herself to keep enough sanity to listen. It meant life and death.

“I trust you heard me mention _superiors_ ”, Michalis continued. “Although I prefer to think of them as temporary stepping stones, these allies do have a say in my rule. While you were out playing soldier, our old dragon neighbor Doluna has shown a remarkable reincarnation under the lead of Khaedin’s sorcerer Gharnef, even getting so far as in reawakening Medeus, the last dragon ruler. Even Grust, with all their military might, has joined forces with them. With such allies, Macedon is bound to thrive. Doluna requested Macedon’s armies as assistance when our father was alive, but he refused. He put his trust in Archanea, but we know how that ended. Cooperation with Doluna is the only way to reach justice for our father and to achieve the dominance our nation deserves. I know you can barely plan two days ahead of you, so asking you to realize the potential might be too much. All you should know is; Doluna owns you.”

Michalis kept his eyes steady on the gleaming edge of Hauteclere. The sharpness in his gaze just as deadly.

“Doluna needs our assistance in conquering Aurelis and Archanea, and seeing as Altea has fallen already, I cannot imagine those puffed-up diplomats giving us any trouble on the way.”

Altea. One of the smaller islands to the north of the landmass that was Doluna and Macedon. Peace-loving. Proud. _Gone_.

“Doluna makes quick work of things, sister. They had Gra’s support in a matter of months and the Gras annexed their neighbor before the Alteans realized their betrayal. King Cornelius himself, ambushed by soldiers he believed to be allies. What an embarrassing death for the descendant of a hero, but it’s just the beginning of Doluna’s might.”

Michalis spun the axe-hilt in his hands. “This will be the dawn of New Macedon, and I shall be the sun rising to greet it. As for you, I am promoting you to First General of Macedon. Mostly for show, really. Any and all subjects under you shall be ultimately loyal to me. Which brings me to my next point.”

He stood up straighter and shouted out into the empty throne room. “Enter!”

The doors opposite the throne opened to reveal four armored soldiers, two of them brought down to kneel as the doors were carefully barred after them.  
Minerva felt her eyes widen. Breath halted in her chest.

“These two friends of yours were apparently very eager to oppose me”, Michalis explained to her. One of his hands was still on her shoulder as she looked straight into the eyes of her Whitewings. "Seems they complicated things for themselves."

He pulled Minerva's shoulder toward him, forced her eyes back on him. "This is not the time to play games, little sister. The throne shifts and I want loyalty; no, I  _need_ loyalty. I cannot accept such insolence from the knights of our realm. But, we are family." Michalis smiled down at her, and a sick part of her responded, wanted to impress him even now.

 _Family_. They shared the same eyes, the same hair, the same father... The same sister. Minerva's mind screeched.  _Familiy._  Her vision was a tunnel, even when she moved her head to stare back at the Whitewings, kneeling on the carpet.

"You care about that rabble." Michalis' voice continued, but it could barely reach her. "And, they make you stronger. I need you strong, sister. I'll give you a fighting chance."

He handed her Hauteclere, and her hands responded automatically by taking hold of the handle. He turned her around like he was directing a puppet, and to her ear only, he leaned closer and spoke the rest. “Would you kill those juniors for me? I cannot trust them not to spread the word that I considered sparing people who defied me. I have no need for your _Fearless Squad_ to become martyrs. Of course, you could stand down and let them kill your knights. I'll find another way to dispose of their guards. Seems like an awful waste, though?”

Minerva tried to listen, but couldn’t grasp the full situation until Michalis let go and gave the order in a short, barking shout. ' _Execute_ '.

Minerva witnessed as Palla steeled herself and realization dawned on the faces of the junior soldiers behind her. The juniors hesitated only for a moment before drawing their swords. Minerva was still rooted in place, but Palla was quick enough.

“Catria, down!”

Palla tackled her younger sister as one of the swords cut through the air, narrowly slicing where Catria’s throat had been. Instead, the tip was caught in Palla’s green braid, and as she fell the edge cut through the skin on her neck. She cried out in pain, following up by kicking at her attackers, but there was not much more she could do with her hands tied. Her blood darkened the red carpet, and the sight of it released Minerva from her paralyzation.

 _The death of one gave life to the other_.

There never was much of a struggle once her arms regained their ability to swing, her feet the ability to dash.  
She crushed the face of the first young soldier with the full force of her axe, and followed immediately with attacking the other with the shaft. His wrist shattered under the pommel and dropped the sword. He was quick to reach down to attempt to take up arms with his right hand instead, but he would never be able to outmaneuver her. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, someone who surely had taken pride in becoming one with Macedon’s forces, to fight for their honor, like the ones at Catria’s graduation—  
She knew how to perform a deadly blow, but her body seemed to refuse. She struck, but not hard enough. Within moments they boy lay with a broken torso, but he was still breathing.

Minerva straightened and stared down at him. Tears were flowing down his face and he gurgled painfully. He didn’t let his eyes off her. So much confusion in his gaze.

“ _Tut-tut_ , Minerva”, she heard Michalis from the edge of the room. She looked back. He was leaning in the broken throne, head resting in his hand. “A soldier never hesitates.”

Minerva looked at her Whitewings. Catria’s eyes were set on the boy on the floor, searching for eye-contact, and her voice, weakened by fear, croaked out what must have been his name. ' _Tiran_ '. Catria wasn’t much older than the junior soldiers herself. She knew them. She knew him. ' _Wait_ ', Catria's weak voice continued. ' _Wait, no, Tiran, no, this isn't right..._ 'In the end, Catria turned her head away, and her breathing grew uneven as if she tried to still sobs. Palla, however, wasn't looking away. Her eyes were set right on Minerva from under her forelocks. Her neck was bleeding still, drips running down and getting caught at the edges of her linen tunic.  
There was no way Minerva would let any harm come to them. She’d rather die. And yet, as she looked back at the boy on the floor...

 _Tiran. I'm sorry_. Her lips formed the words, but no sound came. She realized he’d seen it, he closed his eyes and began to mutter something under his staggering breaths.  
The Macedonan soldier pledge.

_Honor to the kingdom. Servitude to the king._

Except she thought she heard him say “queen”. It was quiet enough so that she was sure Michalis couldn’t have heard.

Tears blurred her vision.

Death of one. Life to the other.

_Honor to the country, servitude to the—_

With a short cry, she let the axe spit him, ending his pain.

It had been the quickest and most merciful way she knew how, but she felt as if she’d tortured him to death. Nothing could soften the crushing robbery of a life unnecessarily taken.

Slowly, the axe gravitated towards the floor, and Minerva’s hands let go. It did not feel like it was her movements.

The silence was broken by Catria’s now full-blown sobs and Michalis content voice. “Good, good. It is settled then." He'd made the juniors believe that they could have lived, and Minerva didn't understand why. She didn't understand anything at all, except that both she and her friends were breathing. She had to keep it that way, even with her head caught in a storm without equal. 

"Whitewings", Michalis continued. "Your liege has ensured you a second chance to pledge to me. I advice you take it.”

He was met by silence, before Palla made an attempt to get up in a sitting position. She struggled, and once again it seemed to awaken Minerva’s ability to move. She pulled her up, and without waiting she grabbed Catria by the shoulders and forced her to face the figure on the throne. She wailed slightly, but managed to stay upright. Minerva joined them in a kneeling position, but there was a ringing in her ears so she could barely hear the words as Palla bent her head and stumbled through a makeshift pledge of loyalty. Minerva was quite sure she heard Catria repeat the words, but the ringing became close to deafening. The smell of fresh blood was settling itself in her mind, and she balled her fists trying to stop herself from shaking.

“Well this was just such a relief of tension, wasn’t it?” Michalis voice sounded distant. “I’m very pleased. Now then – Rise, First General! Receive the blessing from your king!”

Minerva stood.

 _For Maria_.

“Take your axe and sheath it. In a few days' time, you will lead the first army and join up with the Dolunan army beyond the northern border. You need not carry anything but my official seal. Go, with my full blessing. I hope for our family’s sake that you stay out of trouble. I’m sure you agree, sister.”

The room was swinging, distorting in front of her vision.

“I do, brother.”


	12. Hollow Shell

Minerva could no longer stop her shivering. The blankets did nothing to warm her.

The ice was inside her, the cold so intense it _burned_ , so merciless it spread like rot. It clogged her throat. It covered her sight. It rung in her ears.

She hadn’t spoken since she’d gotten out of Michalis presence. She had no memory of how she’d come to shutting herself in her quarters; her legs and arms had moved as from a puppet’s strings. Found her bed, crawled onto it.

She hadn’t opened any shutters in the room, the darkness choking down on her. Even if she could muster the pointless strength to stand and walk to the window, she couldn’t possibly—Maria had made her a wooden wyvern, a sorry slab of wood and it was right by that windowsill—  
Her stomach heaved but nothing exited her, there was just one painful muscle cramp after the other.  
Maria had left her a book that she had wanted Minerva to read and Minerva had told her, later, someday, maybe—  
Her stomach heaved again, her hands met with smudges on her sheets as she scrambled to find some safety, anything at all.

She shouldn’t think, shouldn’t move, but the cold inside her burned its cruel fires, killing everything she thought she knew. Nothing remained but the blistering reminder of loss.

A swallow passed outside the window, a sharp, whirring sound.

Her father had loved the swallows, said that if wyverns or pegasi could fly like them nothing would stand a chance against them. Born from the delirious flames, Minerva imagined herself riding one. The sky blue, nothing above her, nothing below. She’d dash to and fro and nothing would even be quick enough to see her—

The door opened. Minerva hardly noticed, save for a light that cut into her eyes.

Something pulled at her sheets and shoved her aside to change them into clean ones. She wondered why. A vague memory that she’d vomited. She didn’t care, she returned to herself riding the swallow, free and strong.

The warm Something finished with the sheets, and sat down beside her. A presence that melted the outer layer of her cold heart, something – some _one_. Linen clothes rustling with their breaths. Their hand stroking her upper arm.  
She found herself clinging to whatever they were for dear life – anything to hunt away the cold.  
As a toddler, Maria had always asked to sleep beside Minerva when she had had nightmares, because she believed that no bad dream would ever come close if her sister hunted them away—

She heaved again. Her company in the midst of the cold gently hushed her and stroked her back.

“Breathe, Minerva”, a distant voice said. “I am here with you.”

She felt her body soften slightly at the sound, and her breathing evened. She continued to steer the swallow in her dreams, Titania beside her. Together, unbreakable, they ruled the horizon.

\---

Minerva was warmer by the time she awoke. Dual blankets rested on top of her, clean sheets surrounding her. Light seeped in from the gap in the shutters.

Her heart jumped in fear for what she would see now that the darkness no longer covered her room. Her head was clearer, but there was no way she could look at her belongings, so many of them shared with Maria.  
But instead of the room’s contents, she was met by the sight of Palla sleeping beside her. Still fully clothed, with greaves on her feet. She had one arm reached toward Minerva’s face, fingers slightly crooked.

Her hair was different. Instead of flowing down her back in a proud braid, it was cut unevenly so that it barely reached to her chin. Some of it had caught in the bandage on her neck.

Minerva reared back a little at the sight of the injury, her mind spiralling. Palla stirred at her movement, and her eyes opened. Through half-closed lids, she smiled a dreamy smile at of Minerva.

Minerva had always smiled back at Palla, and the urge to do so tugged at her mind. But her lips didn’t respond. Nothing worked as it should.  
A heartbeat later, Palla had sobered up from sleep, and tensed.

“Your _Highness_ ”, she blurted, pulling her hands to her chest, away from Minerva. “I am glad to see you rested, I, uh, apologize for not awaiting proper permission before entering your room and, ah, calling you by your first name.”

Minerva had no idea what she was referring to. All she remembered was someone acting as a warm anchor. She had no memory of Palla saying anything at all, but she didn't want to admit that.

“I’s fine”, Minerva croaked instead. Still finding it difficult to move her face, she rubbed her eyes instead of blinking. They were sore. Dry.

Palla had begun to rise, but Minerva’s hand desperately clutched at her sleeve as if acting of its own accord. “Please stay.”

Palla lay down again, cringing slightly as she moved her neck.

“I was going to remove these aching greaves, but I think I can hold out a while longer.”

That awakened a silent whisper of guilt inside Minerva, but she still couldn’t let go of the sleeve. It was the one thing stopping the room from spinning and the soldier pledge from chanting disorderly in her mind.

“Palla”, she began. Nothing more came. The room flared, as if the sun outside the window had escaped the clutches of a cloud, and the rays of light bounced off the cracked mirror on the wall. The one Maria had promised to fix by inventing a new kind of healing magic. Because she always was devoted like that, always wishing the best—

Her insides protested and her knuckles became white from clutching Palla’s sleeve so hard, but she managed to stay afloat.

“Palla”, Minerva tried again. “Where’s Catria?” Her mouth was so clumsy, it sounded more like ' _where Caria'_.

“In the east wing – she spent the night in the hallway.” As if sensing what Minerva would ask next, she continued: “She’s fine. Shaken, and furious, but fine.”

Fury. Minerva had that too. Somewhere, drowned in something darker and lonelier. Perhaps it was something to hold on to. If she could find it properly.  
She needed to get herself in order. It was unlike her to fall into chaos, in any other crisis she had always found herself able to think, to quickly analyze, and respond within moments. It was a necessary trait of a commander of any sort.  
This time there was a net that strangled her the more she tried to twist free. There were no quick options, whatever attempt she’d done to analyze her situation had gone completely haywire and made her sick. Trying to connect two thoughts was like trying to capture butterflies in a wild swarm of bees.  
_Maria_ , the bees chanted.

Minerva forced herself to sit up. She felt like the full weight of a horse held her down, and trembled from exhaustion. In the end, it was Palla that pushed her upright. Too tired to feel embarrassed or scared at her weakness, she leaned her head against Palla’s shoulder.

“Take it slowly, Commander”, Palla said, and placed an arm around her to support her. “A foul blow to the soul takes time to heal.”

Heal? What inside her was whole enough to be brought back together? A wound needed edges, something to guide the healing tissues – she’d been sliced right down the middle and fallen apart – what could possibly, possibly heal?

Her breathing got uneven. Deep, gasping breaths, not enough to keep her sane, not enough to keep her sight, her left ear rang so loudly she couldn’t—

She came to, but as she did, she was lying down again.

 _No_ , she cried. _No, not after I tried so hard to get up... No_. The mere thought of fighting to sit upright again caused tears to could her vision. But this time there was anger too. A fury that stepped on the confusion like ants. _There isn’t room for you_ , the fury said. _There’s no time for this_.

“Palla”, she rasped. “Help me again. Please.”

Palla grabbed her shoulders, pulled her up, and this time Minerva even got her legs over the edge of the bed. Her thoughts a messy blur of shame.  
_You’re pathetic_ , her thoughts hissed at her.

She wanted to break something, but helpless as her body was all she could do was produce more tears, more suffocating pain.  
She stared out into the room. Everything was so familiar to her, her mind even played a temporary trick on her by giving her the urge to knock on Maria’s door, ask her if she wanted to fly with her before her healing practice...

She allowed herself to rest her head against Palla again, to feel the softness of her cheek against her stiff hair – there ought to be blood in it, she realized. There had been, on her face and shoulders. The stains of an executioner, burning against her skin, unable to be washed away completely. Stains she would have to carry for as long as she lived.

“I think I’d like to bathe”, she said. Such a strange thing to say, such a strange thing to think, but she needed whatever could give her new strength. She needed it if she should be able to take a step forward. Any step at all.

“I think you ought to.” Minerva felt Palla’s cheek tense, realizing she was smiling. “Do your legs carry you? Let’s see – lean on me.”

She managed to walk to the doorway. Once again angry at how her body failed her.  
“You are not meant to serve me this way, Palla. This is beneath you.”

“Hey.” Palla's cheek thudded against her scalp, like the whisper of a scolding. “Min—I mean— Commander, if you don’t mind me saying, it is never beneath a friend to help a friend.”

Minerva found no answer. Those words would have warmed her heart, had it not crackled into nothing.

They worked their way slowly towards the bathing chambers. Not a servant in sight. Considering the recent rearrangements, that might not be so strange. How many more had died the day before? Or had Minerva slept for longer than just one night? Did anyone aside from herself, Catria and Palla know the truth? What _was_ the truth? After years of peace, Archanea murdered? What were the families of the dead junior soldiers thinking? What did they know? What had happened to any Macedonans who asked questions? Her throat flushed at the frustration of not being able to think properly, but at least she could form something comprehensible without being sick or fainting away.

Palla opened the door to the bathing chamber, helped Minerva down on a bench and started to fill a bath for her. Not a single servant in sight, still.

“It’s ready", Palla said. "I’ll take my leave.”

Minerva found that standing came easier than before, but she doubted she could handle being alone.  
“Just turning your back is enough, I might need... Help.”

“Of course.” Palla wasn’t looking right at her, and turned around almost too quickly. Perhaps she wanted to leave. _Who wouldn’t_? Minerva was neither princess nor commander at that point – she barely felt human. Her cheeks flushed from the thought. Palla had always been duty-minded. She was there by obligation, of course. She’d say what she had to, but she’d probably leave the first chance she had.

“You could fetch someone else”, Minerva forced out. “If you’d like.”

Palla’s back stiffened. “Would you rather I did?”

“I can’t ask you to be around all the time.”

Palla said nothing, and didn’t move. Minerva tried her best not to bother her and to make quick work of the bathing.

She hadn’t realized how filthy her skin had been before she saw the hot water darken. She saw droplets with a more reddish hue fall from her crimson hair. Pieces of people dripped into her bathing water. Not for the first time, but it had never distorted into something so monstrous before. Her own reflection stared up at her from the muddy ripples. Empty eyes matching the bloodstained droplets. A face of stone. Hollow.

“My father is dead.”

She felt as if she was talking to no one. Her lips in her reflection moved, but at the same time, nothing seemed to change. The shape in the water was stoic and dead, just like her father’s had been.

“... I heard.” Palla said.

Minerva forced herself to splash her face one last time and rose with the help of the edges of the tub. “I assume you heard a lot of things yesterday.”

Palla stayed with her back toward her. “Barely. Catria and I were ambushed after we had separated from you, and was escorted back to the barracks. Maybe we did protest in a way that could be close to treacherous. Although we did not mean to cross his majesty, of course.”

Minerva staggered, but grabbed hold of a towel and dried her face with it. Her body couldn’t falter in this charade, anyone could be listening.  
“Of course not.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find me a tad confused for a while, milady.” Palla arched her head and looked straight at Minerva, eyes like summer birch leaves. “Things have happened in... quick succession. But whatever path you walk on, I shall follow.”

Minerva stayed with her face half-hidden in the towel, meeting Palla’s gaze. Her skin prickled from the cold, but she couldn’t move to wrap herself properly.

 _I don’t deserve you_ , she thought. _I am a shattered vase and you stay to pick up the pieces_.

Tears burned behind her eyelids. Her mind was drowning trying to re-establish order, all while the fires of her father’s death, the flood of Michalis’ betrayal and the earth-splitting cataclysm of Maria’s fate was hunting her senses. Palla might be ignorant of the last part, but she still managed to stand so tall despite the first two catastrophes. _I don’t deserve you_ , her mind hiccupped. But she said nothing of it.

“Help me”, she whispered instead. “I need my armor.” She took a few steps on her own, and didn’t fall over. “Get Catria as I change.” A horrid thought struck her as she reached for Palla’s outstretched arm. “ _Divines_ – make sure you know where Est is.”

Palla’s gaze shivered for a moment. That told Minerva more than words – Palla didn’t know where she was.

 _Michalis wouldn’t_ , a terrified child inside her mind said. But he’d already done it once – why would he stop there?

Minerva’s breath got uneven, but a fire in her heart kept her standing, steeling her spine.

“Never mind - _go_ ”, she whispered. “Find them both. I’ll be fine, thanks to you.”

Palla’s salute did not falter, but her eyes betrayed a worry that had not been there before. She turned and jogged down the hallway towards the west wing, only once casting a glance backwards. It was by then Minerva realized she hadn’t once asked if Palla was alright, but there was no room inside her for guilt. She wrapped herself tight in the towel and walked with bare feet on the cold stone floor, supporting herself against the wall.

She had enough power to stay alive, and for now, that was what mattered. But whether it took an eternity, she’d reach her full strength again – and when she did, the gods would tremble in her wake.

\---

Palla converged with Minerva in her quarters, just as she’d strapped on her last piece of crimson steel. Her hazy, shapeless self just barely upheld by the familiar outer shell of metal.

Palla forgot saluting her, her only greeting were eyes widened from fear.

“I can’t find Est anywhere!”

Minerva had no time to process Palla's words before a steaming Catria tackled her way past and grabbed Minerva by her collar.  
There was no trace of her usual, shining face. Minerva realized she’d never seen Catria express anger – frustration and bitterness was the only way she communicated her dissatisfaction, until this moment.

“Commander”, she almost yelled, eyes sending sparks into Minerva’s. “I can’t _believe_ you forced me to kneel and plead to that _disgusting_ bastard—“

Minerva didn’t hesitate as she struck. Her fist slammed into Catria’s cheek, overpowering whatever words she had planned to say next.  
Who waited in the shadows for a chance to strike them all down? Who was near enough to hear?  
Probably no-one, but Minerva couldn’t afford ‘probably’. She grabbed her knight by the neck and forced her down, leaning in close.

“You will not speak any ill of his majesty”, she hissed through her teeth. “Hear me, or I shall twist your head off your shoulders.”

Sapphire eyes stared back at her in a face pale as snow. Catria seemed to have lost her ability to speak, but nodded once.  
Minerva let go, almost threw her away.

There was no room for error. No room for anger. She had to carefully enclose herself. Keep up the act.

She looked over her shoulder. Palla had her arms raised, as if instinctively wanting to shelter her sister from such cruelty. But she hadn’t, her arms frozen halfway, her face twisted in tearful confusion.

 _Damn it all_. Minerva couldn’t waste any more of her time staying here – if the sisters couldn’t find Est, it was up to her. She had to expect the worst, but this time, she’d be more prepared.

She turned and disappeared into the hallway, but felt like her soul got left behind. It stayed with her friends, watching as the hollow shell of Minerva’s body walked on, not sure if it recognized her anymore.


	13. Rosehip

“Greetings, First General.”

Minerva’s hand did not tremble as she placed it over her heart. She bowed her head to complete the salute.

“My King.”

Michalis was sitting at their father’s work desk, back straight. He wore his usual formal attire of fine black silk, but he no longer had his hair tied up like he used to. Instead he’d let it fall down over his shoulders, accentuating the royal circlet that she’d been certain was meant to be buried with their late father.

“I heard you were unwell”, Michalis purred. “It gladdens me you feel better.”

Where had he heard that? The hallways were completely empty of the usual servants, at least to her knowledge. She couldn’t trust her own home anymore.

“I must have eaten something inappropriately cooked at the border.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Commoners and their unclean ways.” Michalis played with a quill, looking far too comfortable surrounded by a king’s duties.

“As pleasing as it is to have you home, sister, I want to see the Macedonan army ready to march for Doluna by the morning. Here”, he said, reaching her a sealed letter. “Their second in command, sir Gharnef, will be expecting you by the Dolunan border. Fly the colors of New Macedon and he shall know you’ve come with my blessing. I had one banner made yesterday night. You will have the great honor of hoisting the new symbol of our glory for the first time.”

“I’m delighted.”

“As you should be. Anything unclear? I’d hate for your incompetence to ruin my first days of rule.”

“There will be no error. I’ll slaughter anyone you wish me to. I do have a question regarding my seconds in command—“

“Keep your Whitewings. I don’t care. Although, should they act out of line again, it will be on Maria’s head.”

The room wobbled. The sound of his voice was enough to make her nauseous, but when he mentioned Maria it was like a knife to her gut. She took a deep breath, and she thought she saw Michalis sneer at that.

She couldn’t let it distract her. The balancing edge was slim enough already.

“My question is... May they be informed on the... situation... of Maria?”

Michalis leaned his head in his hand. “They may. As I said, I don’t care, as long as they are ready to cut off your head, should I tell them to.”

“They would.” Palla would understand, her sense of duty was beyond her emotions, or so Minerva liked to think. And Catria might actually want to, after being struck in such a manner. So she managed to sound convinced.

“Well then, you’re lucky I prefer having you alive for now. Is that all?”

“I do have a wish, if you’ll hear it.”

Michalis eyes narrowed into thin slits. “I’ll hear.”

“Seeing as me and my Whitewings will leave for a long time, we cannot care for the youngest of them. You might remember Est, Maria’s friend. My wish is that she’ll accompany us as another member of the Whitewings.”

 _Please_ , her thoughts begged. She didn’t care what Palla would say, she didn’t know the fate Est might meet if she stayed.

“Why, isn’t she a child that hasn’t even finished junior knighthood? What kind of asset would that be?”

“She’s viciously talented.”

That was a clear truth.

“She will surpass both her sisters, as she is their equal already. She’ll make a formidable soldier for the Macedonan army.”

That might have been a slight exaggeration, but Minerva would say whatever she needed to, to... what? Send the young girl into a possibly worse danger?

“Well”, Michalis said while spinning the quill in his hands. “Sounds like I’d like to have her close to me then, doesn’t it? A king needs his guards, and her sisters could rest easy knowing she’d be safe behind these walls.”

 _Divines above_ , Minerva prayed. _Don’t let this happen_.

“What she lacks is experience, and I firmly believe being a Whitewing will sharpen her potential.”

“Perhaps you’re right. But you see, I have this idea that her sisters might enhance their performance with the... _proper motivation_. Am I wrong?”

Those three words. Michalis had spoken them quite often around the court, and if anyone continued questioning him after that, he’d mercilessly wear them down in court, humiliate, subtly tear down their walls. It was a dare, not a curiosity. And now that mercilessness could kill.

“You’re not wrong”, Minerva yielded, hating her words, hating that she had to give in. Michalis leaned back with a small light of approval in his gaze.

“Is it your belief that they will be equally motivated, having her on the battle alongside you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Mmm. It’s lovely to see you being so cooperative, though. I haven’t had to listen to your idealistic nonsense for a while. In your case, motivation has been _very_ effective.”

 _Stop wobbling_ , Minerva cursed at the walls. _I have to focus_.

“That motivation is enough to carry over to them, your majesty.” She tasted dirt as she spoke. Bitter, bitter dirt.

“I’m sure it will. Well, well, what difference does one more or less soldier do in the bigger picture of things? You’ll find Est in the north wing – she’s been very busy meeting her new weapon’s tutor. The last one, our dear old Pilas, met a terrible fate trying to fight off the Archanian assassins. Or so I heard, anyway.”

Michalis stood, and knocked twice on the glass window behind the work desk. One of the hundreds of sky knights around the king’s tower stopped to hover outside the window. Michalis signalled something unknown to Minerva. Inside signals were prohibited at the knight academy, but she shouldn’t be surprised that Michalis had invented his own. She was only surprised that she hadn’t noticed him doing it before now. He turned to Minerva as the wyvern knight lunged away from the window.

“Go ahead”, he said. “The word will reach Orridyon momentarily.”

He smiled at her with his brows raised, as if asking ' _am I not a gracious king?'_

Minerva had yearned to see that smile, once. Her stomach lurched again, but she hid whatever discomfort might show on her face with a quick bow.

“The army shall be ready in the morning, as you command.”

“That pleases me. Goodbye, little sister. I hope to hear many great things about your deeds.”

\---

Minerva jogged down the stairs towards the north wing of the castle, almost tripping over her own feet. Whatever dignity she had managed to contain when meeting with Michalis had ran off her as soon as she closed the door behind her. Her bones seemed almost loose in their joints as she ran, every step a step closer to toppling over. Supporting herself against the wall, she hurried down the spiral staircase and tackled open any door in her way.

What if this was a cruel trick? Est might very well be far gone, locked behind the same walls that held Maria.

It wasn’t until she saw a puff of rosehip-colored hair among the cherry trees in the northern gardens that Minerva’s heart calmed its uneven gallop.

“Est”, she called out, and the child smiled broadly as she looked up to meet Minerva's gaze.

“Princess”, she yelled back and jogged to meet her. “Oh, how nice to see you – is Palla and Catria home too? Did you hear the king and master Pilas died? I was really sad at first, but then the prince – or _king_ now, I suppose – introduced me to Orridyon here! He’s the new weapon’s master and he’s really nice – Orridyon, say hi!”

A man entered Minerva's sight from the shadow of the trees. He was clad much fancier than Pilas had ever been, and was armed to his teeth. He radiated great skill, but he did not have the air of a teacher. His eyes were those of a hungry murderer – Minerva had seen a fair share of those in the faces of bandits.

“First General”, he smiled at her. “Pleasure.” He did not courtesy.

Minerva both envied and hated Est’s naivety at that moment. The man was no more weapons master than Minerva was a dragon. She dreaded to think what would have happened if Minerva hadn’t dared to press Michalis.

 _Motivation for the Whitewings_ , Michalis had said.

For all his faults, she’d always believed her brother to be human.

She would never make that mistake again.

“Greetings, Orridyon”, she answered the weapons-master. “I’m sure you were informed of Est’s new position as a fellow Whitewing.”

The man picked his nail on one of his brass knuckles. “Indeed.”

Est beamed, looking up on Minerva. “Wait, REALLY? Oh, princess, that’s so great – may I go tell Maria? I haven’t heard from her for days, she’s been so busy, but she could use some cheering up after what happened to your dad—“

“Stay with me, Est”, Minerva cut her off, not letting her eyes off Orridyon. “After all, we need to pick a mount for you, right? You know, I’ll even let you pick my mother’s old Pegasus if you want, yeah? I know you like each other. Besides, we’ll be very busy organizing the Macedonan army, and I’d like your help. Thank you, Orridyon. That will be all.”

The man nodded at her and patted Est on the head. “Goodbye, little star. We’ll miss you here at the castle.”

Est laughed. “Silly, I’ll come back to visit often!”

 _Not on my watch_ , Minerva thought. She took Est’s hand and walked briskly out of the gardens. _I’m already so tired of being afraid_.

“You’re sure I can’t go see Maria just for a moment?” Est babbled on. “I want her to know if I have to be gone as much as you are all the time—“

“Maria isn’t here.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, is it another journey with healing master Talia? When will she be back then?”

“I can’t say.”

“Alright – Princess, I’m sorry, but you’re kind of squashing my hand!”

Minerva hadn’t noticed. She loosened her grip, but did not let go. Not in a million years would she, not as long as she still felt Orridyon’s eyes drilling into her neck.

Palla and Catria were outside Minerva’s private quarters, where she had left them half an hour before.  
Catria didn’t look up, she busied herself with a healing salve, dabbing it carefully around her right eye. It had swelled already, only a slim part of her reddened eye was visible.

 _Divines forgive me_ , Minerva thought, then realized she didn’t care if the Divines forgave or understood – what mattered was that Catria might. But why would she?

Palla was crouching at Catria’s side. She, at least, looked up as they arrived.

“ _Est_!” Palla breathed, and in one movement she rose and pulled her youngest sister into a tight embrace. Perhaps Palla had guessed more of the situation than she let on, but Minerva refused to ponder it. The only thing that could keep her sane was assuming _nobody_ knew _anything_. She could not afford guesses. There was no time to straighten things out, neither for herself nor her knights.

 _Michalis’ knights_ , she corrected herself. _I have nothing_.

Est was as frustratingly clueless as before. She giggled and bounced on her toes as she leaned back in Palla’s arms.

“Guess what, sister? I’m a _Whitewing_ , now! We’re just gonna get my Pegasus – Commander said I could take the _queen’s_! Isn’t that great? Next time you leave, I’m coming with you!”

Palla merely stared at Est, then her eyes slowly crawled to Minerva. Piercing anger burned underneath, even though her face didn’t move.

“What’s the meaning of this?” That was a demand, not a question; there was no trace of Palla's usual gentle voice.

Minerva’s shell cracked, and some of the ice came crawling back inside her. She tried to force it back, but it still spread.

She couldn’t explain all of it, not now, not with the castle walls listening, not when she had little time to get everything in order.

She wanted to look away, wanted to fall down to the floor and never get up. But she kept her gaze steady into Palla’s, her own anger sparking behind them.

“Do not question me”, she said. “You’ll know soon enough, but we don’t have any time to spare. By morning, our army will march towards Doluna.”

Est’s smile died away, and she looked for the first time properly at Catria and her swollen eye. Her eyes turned back to Minerva, with a growing frown.  
“Hold on – does that mean we’re... going to war against the _dragons_?”

“No”, Minerva answered. “We’re joining them.”


	14. Oaths of Old

A First General’s duties were many, unrewarding and complex. Minerva had dreamt of shouldering them since childhood, but had known it would take even the most renowned soldier years and years to reach that position. She had prepared herself to be able to manage it one day; but to have such tasks thrown onto her so suddenly... How could she possibly do it properly? Nothing was right about this. Nothing.

Minerva could not help to ponder what had happened to their _former_ First General, because she hadn’t been seen since... _since_...

Minerva clenched her jaw and forced any such thoughts to the side. She walked out of the castle grounds and toward the main military barracks.

She was the _general_ now. Not a squad leader, not a princess. No one soldier could object her order; though what if they did? What if they held her youth in contempt? _She hadn't prepared for this._

Her remaining feelings of doubt on the matter ran off her as she noted how smoothly her transition to the new position went. She found every commanding officer awaiting her entrance at the military barracks, and they all saluted her with the utmost precision.

She showed no surprise when she saluted them back.

 

Michalis must have prepared everything long before this day. That was the only explanation she could think of.

And she was almost _grateful_. A twisted gratitude over that at least she wouldn’t have to fight to gain respect. Her body still didn’t work as it should, her mind still sunk deeper into dark mud.

 _Kill everything_ , the mud rumbled at her, almost drowning her. And she knew that if anyone questioned her, she'd give in to it. She'd end them all, without thought, without question.

Perhaps that showed on her face. Not one of the commanders in the room voiced the slightest objection to her orders. Assembling and organizing for the hasty journey went by almost effortlessly.

 

The Whitewings followed her around during the preparations, as was their usual duty. But they never spoke. Perhaps a ‘ _yes, Commander_ ’ at most.

Catria walked behind her other sisters, as far away from Minerva as possible. Est had finally read the heaviness in the air. She'd begun to fumble nervously with her lance and armor that was too big for her, even tripping into Minerva’s back on occasion and gasping an apology - she hadn't giggled about it, not once.

And Palla walked quietly by Minerva’s right side, her soft face growing sterner by the minute.

 _Est is safe_ , was Minerva’s only consolation.

She shouldn’t focus on the pain it caused her that Palla never looked directly at her for the entire day.

She shouldn’t focus on the pain that threatened to crush her as the day drew to a close, and she was once again in her rooms. Alone.

She lay down on the floor, not bothering to take off her armor. She stared up into the ceiling, listening to the silence from the room beside hers. Palla’s room.

Empty.

She hoped the cold from the floor could dull her senses enough to let her mind stop its heedless spiralling. Sleep was a long-forgotten luxury. The night was a void around her.

But at least Est was safe. At least her knights were alive. This pain had to be worth it.

It had to be.

\---

By the morning, she stood mounted in the fields outside the capital, with the full Macedonan force facing her and Titania. Just as ordered.

Once again, her sleep-deprived mind was struck by how quickly Michalis had made his new reign work. How long had he planned this? How long had he eyed soldiers to pick out the most suitable for his goals?

She didn’t recognize many faces among the commanders. Most were young and new, filled with anticipation to see the New Macedon spread into the continent. Minerva saw none of the captains who her father had complimented for being ' _unquestionably loyal_ '. The king had made examples of them by giving them honorary residence in the inner circles of the capital. Minerva had seen them around in court occasionally.

So of course they weren’t there.

 

Despite what Michalis was fond of insisting, Minerva knew she wasn’t stupid. The unrelenting swarm of sky knights around the castle had shown no traces of a security breach, and now the convenient disappearance of the king’s most trusted soldiers... The story about the Archanean assassins grew more and more hollow, and in its place one horrid suspicion grew.

The relationship between her brother and father had never been warm, and had grown shakier in the later years, but that Michalis would actually _murder_...

She drew Hauteclare. There were better times to ponder possibilities. One sleepless night did not better the state of her mind. If she survived the day, she’d think more thoroughly.

She ordered Titania to hover above ground, and she lifted Hauteclare high above her head.

“Brave soldiers”, she bellowed, her voice echoing in the mountains surrounding them. “This day marks the rebirth of Macedon – Archanea will pay for their cruelty! They will tremble and regret the day they awoke our anger! We’ll cloud their sun; leave them beaten in the shadows of our wings! _This is the day we march for glory_!”

She raised the banner she had supported on her shoulder, and as if sensing the coming bloodshed, Titania responded to Minerva’s speech with a roar of her own, and thousands upon thousands of wyverns joined her. Paired with the bloodcurdling cheers of the countless human soldiers the sound must have carried over mountain and ocean alike. Minerva could not help her pulse from dancing along with the raw power in the air, and lifted the banner higher.

“ _To Doluna_!”

She steered Titania north, and heard a myriad of other wings follow suit. Banner still held high, she took in the sight of the mighty fabric.

It was still the traditional Macedonan red, but the new addition was yellow radiance circling the shield of Iote that Minerva had seen in the treasury so many years ago.

She fastened Hauteclare in her belt. She felt sick.

But somewhere, deep in her heart, she’d let the mob influence her.

She was proud.

And that made her feel sicker than ever.

\---

They had to stop before the giant evergreen wood that Minerva knew so well as the Northern border.

She continued her duties as a First General, held a strategy meeting with her new captains inside the royal tent, dispatched scouts and patrolled the camp with her Whitewings in tow. Her Whitewings, who still hadn’t spoken to her.

 _Patience_ , she told herself. _Wait for the right time_.

While the afternoon sun warmed her cheeks, Minerva’s soul stood alone on a cold rocky island in the middle of a storming ocean. But she continued on, not letting it show. She had the experience of commanding a small band of knights, and an army was similar in many ways. So she could rely on her instincts, now that her mind still wasn’t with her. She’d managed for this long. She could hold out for a while more.

Not that she had a choice.

 

As darkness fell and every soldier was either dispatched on duty or resting soundly, Minerva could finally retreat to her tent. She gestured her Whitewings to follow her inside.  
Now was her chance to finally speak with them.

She stood with her back to them at first. She was finally away from the curious eyes of every soldier in Macedon, but without it, her body felt heavy and cold again. How could she face her friends?

They deserved so much better than this.

 _And the only thing I can give is the truth_.

“I suppose some explanation is in order”, she mumbled toward the ground. Her knights stood quiet, but one of them stepped closer and circled in front of her.  
The figure of Palla was unyielding and proud, her arms crossed.

“I judge our situation sufficient for speaking freely, your highness.”

Minerva’s knees buckled, and she collapsed down on her bed of deer-hide.

“Don’t ‘ _your highness_ ’ me anymore”, she answered quietly, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “And you’re wrong. There will never be a time where we can speak freely ever again. Please – Catria, Est, come closer.”

The sisters hesitated, but joined their elder sister’s side, and all three of them sat down on the ground in front of her. Catria seemed unwilling to be too close, and Est had clearly not taken well on the lack of information. She was silent and cast confused glances between the three of them, and those glances always ended on Catria’s blackened eye.

“From here on out, only address me with the title _Commander_ ”, Minerva begun. She kept her voice flat. “Anything else could be seen as a jab towards the king. And even the tiniest of uproars will be seen as the gravest sin. To... To cite him, under no circumstances am I to act on my own accord. Because... there is... there is this...”

She was unsure how to continue. She had not yet spoken the words out loud, and her mind struggled, hated facing the truth.

“Maria dies if I act against him.”

The words burned at her throat.

Est’s eyes widened, and Palla tightened the fists in her lap. Catria looked straight at her, for the first time that day.

“That is what I wish I could have told you sooner”, Minerva babbled on, as if finally speaking of Maria had broken the dam on her words. “But it was all I could do to get the three of you out of the castle alive, which wasn’t what Michalis had intended to begin with. Catria, I am withering in shame for hitting you so cruelly. It was not your fault, and I am... so sorry. I don’t deserve the forgiveness of any of you, but I hope you understand I did what I could. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Catria stroked her own cheek absentmindedly. “Yea”, she mumbled. “I get you, m’lady. Can’t say I liked it, but I understand why, now. Don’t worry, I’m a soldier after all; a li’l punch doesn’t scare me.”

Minerva nodded, blinked away tears. “I... I want you to know that if you wish to leave my service, you are free to do so. This war might mean no return...” She was running out of breath somehow. Her chest was so tight; she could only whisper the last words. “... and no one should be forced to shoulder the life of a loved one... I can’t ask this of you.”

Palla’s knuckles where white. “Your Highness—“

“ _Commander_.” Minerva’s shoulders hunched and she bent her head in an attempt to avoid looking at them, but Palla didn’t let her. She took her face in her hands and lifted it so their eyes could meet. Minerva drew a short breath of surprise, but did not look away.

“By the gods, alright then, _Commander_ , I want you to listen.” Palla almost spat her words out. “You’ve hit my sister. You’ve dragged my other sister into a war that might kill her. I’ve been desperately furious with you, with everything that’s crashed and burned – and now you make me even angrier by suggesting I’d _leave_ you after learning why? Acid could be raining from the sky and I would have stayed until I got to the bottom of your suffering, of all of this – and now that I understand the reasons for your acts were justified, you think I want to _retire_? Do you know me at all?”

Minerva could barely hear her; all she registered was rage in a face that so often shone with gentleness.

“I feel like I don’t know anyone anymore”, she whispered, as tears clouded her vision.

Palla’s frown softened and she let go, crossed her arms again. “I... understand. Know this then, Commander – the time will never come when I willingly leave your side. Your path is my path. Your battles are my battles.”

“I won’t leave, either!” It must have been the first time Est spoke without childlike cheerfulness. “Maria’s my best friend. I will not let her be harmed. I’ll stay by your side, Commander.”

“What they said”, Catria mumbled and pointed vaguely at her sisters. “I mean, this is... Ingun and Tiran... We used to have breakfast together. They were like me, and they... died in the throne room. I just... I don’t want that to happen to anyone else I know, and Maria is our little honorary sister. I’d be a fool if I fled. Commander, I swore an oath, and I intend to keep it until I die.”

Minerva couldn’t stay upright anymore, she bent down as if her every muscle had stopped working. The tears could be held back no longer. She didn’t care.

She didn’t care Est or Catria had never seen her so weak.

She didn’t care if she was a feeble general, letting sorrow get the better of her.

The mannequin of herself she’d hidden behind had broken in the middle and she was standing naked in darkness, exposed to everything.

“Hey now, Commander”, Catria said and put her arm around her. “We’re all here for ya.”

“I am so sorry for hitting you”, Minerva sobbed back. “I hate myself and I hate my hand.”

Est and Palla joined the embrace, their movements solemn. Minerva wasn’t sure how it happened, but she’d buried her face in Palla’s shoulder. Her tears fell unrestrained, dampened the bandage on Palla's neck.

Her Whitewings said nothing, they all clung to each other. Minerva couldn't tell if they were sobbing too, but that somehow wasn't important. They were the only conviction of reality Minerva had left, and she'd hold on to that for dear life.

Minerva didn’t know how long they remained unmoving. Time was one of many things that had been distorted since the throne room.

Her arms had grown stiff when she broke free. She waited until her breathing evened before she spoke again.

“Thank you for... for your patience. For everything.” She wiped her face.

Est kept her hand on Minerva’s arm.

“Commander.” The word was still a bit odd to hear in Est’s voice. “I’m frightened.”

Minerva didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t console herself, how could she console another?

“Me too”, she said.

Est smiled weakly at her, and Minerva drew a shaky breath. Some of the steel inside her had returned, her mind had stable footing again.

 _I am not alone_.

“I am leading this war for Maria”, she proclaimed with a quiet voice, putting her hands on her lap and sitting straighter. “We have to stay strong, and keep our thoughts to ourselves, _always_. We are the loyal subjects of His Majesty Michalis, and if anyone suggests otherwise, slice them open for their insolence. If anyone objects or offends his name, send them to death. This is no game. The slightest slip and all will have been for nothing. Do you understand?”

Three hands found their respective chests as the Whitewings saluted her in unison.

“Clear as day, Commander”, Palla answered, both her sisters nodding along with her.

“Good”, was all Minerva could think of saying. “Get some rest, if you can. Speak of this to no one. We’ll enter Doluna by midday tomorrow, and Divines know what awaits us.”

A few more moments of silence. Est was the first one to stand. Her childlike face had a grim shadow over it, and the sight landed like a boulder in Minerva’s belly. Seeing Est grasp a serious situation without her usual optimism felt so wrong. So very, very wrong.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then”, Est said, drawing her hand through her hair, not really looking at any of them.

Catria stood as well and placed her arm around her younger sister. “Yeah”, she said. “I’m going too. Take care, Commander. We’re just a few tents away if you need us.”  
Minerva tried her best to smile at her without looking at her swollen eye. “I know. Thank you.”

“Can I stay to exchange a few other words with you, Commander?” Palla’s gaze was steadfast, her face revealing nothing of the thoughts beneath.  
Minerva’s heart shivered. She couldn’t handle much more now, but she wanted to hear her speak, regardless of what may come. Anything was better than her cold silence.

“Of course.”

“Est, Catria”, Palla said, looking at them for a short moment. “Go on ahead. I’ll be with you soon.”

The two sisters left with a final nod at Minerva. The tent immediately felt much colder. If Palla had not stayed, it would have spread into Minerva’s mind as well.

Minerva didn't move, waited for Palla to speak. Her body ached after the day’s flight, but it was at least nice that she could feel it. Much better than the numbness she’d walked through the entire day before then.

Palla stretched her damp bandage, frowning, before she decided to take it off. The revealed scratch wasn’t very deep, but was a sharp, angry red against her otherwise smooth neck.

“I’m unsure where to begin”, she mumbled. “I’m sorry for losing my restraint earlier, I was...” She frowned deeper. “ _Upset_ sounds a bit dull, considering everything.”  
Minerva fiddled with her fingers, couldn’t find anything to say.

“Your hi—Commander”, Palla continued. “I had always thought following you through any sort of suffering would come easy to me, because, after all, I’d follow _you_. But... You should know, when you hit Catria, I was about to strangle you.”

Minerva rubbed her eye. “I don’t judge you for it.”

Palla shook her head. “It caused me so much heartache. I knew something was very wrong, that you seemed so _lost_ – I just... I couldn’t understand exactly why, but I assumed you hitting my sister and you murdering two juniors were, um, connected to something bigger than I knew. Yet I still reacted by wanting to tear you away from her. I’m glad I was able to stop myself.”

The tent spun a little, but Minerva maintained eye contact.

“I trusted you, though", Palla continued. "So I waited. I thought, if you didn’t have a believable reason for acting like you did, I would take Catria and leave, as soon as we found Est. Which, I realize now, might not have been possible if it weren’t for you.” Palla cast an eye toward the closed tent-opening, where Est had left only moments before. “That was what I wanted to say. I’m ashamed of myself for doubting you, but I don’t regret it.”

“You shouldn’t regret it either.” Minerva looked at the tent-flap as well. “Doubting me is all within your rights, for gods sakes – _I’m_ the one who’s ashamed. Maybe I could have handled the situation better, but at the same time, I think not. I’m not very sure about anything anymore.”

Palla laughed quietly. “We’re like a bunch of confused children. Gods know I feel like one, at least.”

Minerva could only hum in agreement. She was still nauseous, but now, hearing Palla’s voice felt... almost _normal_.

Palla moved her hand so that she placed it on Minerva’s upper arm. “I feel bad for pushing you so much, but can I ask something else?”

“Go ahead. I was granted permission to share everything about our mission and goals with all three of you, but what I can answer is another matter.”

“I realize. I just wanted to know – why did you bring Est along with us? Wasn’t it enough to know she was safe?”

Minerva breathed deeply, and shook her head. “I’m sorry for not telling you this when you asked the first time.” Minerva lowered her voice, leaning in closer. “Est had a guard when Michalis told me where to find her. I did not recognize his face, but I remembered the name Orridyon from somewhere, and later that night I made the connection – the guard was a former war criminal that couldn’t go on as a mercenary. Michalis and I were present at his trial two years ago, and you were outside as part of the guard... Do you remember?”

Minerva couldn’t expect her to. Since her first time three years ago, Minerva had been to many trials. Palla shook her head.

“He was charged for raiding a Macedonan mountain village and executing most of their children. Father... Father asked for his reasons. He showed no remorse when he told us he had none. He simply wanted to.”

Palla had gone pale.

“I realize Est will not be safe with us”, Minerva continued, “but I gave both you and her a chance to fight for something, other than fear. Michalis had otherwise planned for her to add her to the... leverage...”

“I see.” Palla was still pale, but her tone of voice was unchanged. To anyone who might have eavesdropped, she sounded completely unbothered. Minerva hoped she herself had the same restraint in the eyes of others.

“Thank you, Commander.” Her voice revealed nothing, but her eyes blinked away tears, the hand on Minerva’s arm hugged her slightly. “I... I will bother you no longer. You need your rest. I suppose I should leave you, now.”

 _No_ , Minerva’s mind pleaded. Whatever steel she had found within herself buckled by the mere thought of being alone in the darkness again. The night before had been unbearable.

She balled her fists. “Palla, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can stay sane alone.”

She said it, but Palla’s surprised face made her regret it.

“If it burdens you too greatly then you are free to walk away and I will love you just the same”, she added hastily. “I mean, of course, I always love and appreciate you lots, which I might not have told you enough times – _either way_ , should you wish to – should you _truly_ wish to – could you stay with me even in the night?”  
Palla’s frown loosened into a smile. “That could have been worded better, but I think I understand. I would gladly make you company. I mean it. Although that means something to most people. They might get ideas.”

“I don’t care, but if you do, then—“

“No. The only opinion I care about is yours, and what untrue rumours may spread won’t change this. It might be better for me as well, actually. It makes my job of keeping you safe easier, too.”

Minerva couldn’t help but smile. Something genuine, at last. “Thank you. So, um, I did not sleep much last night, so if it’s alright, I think I should try...”

“I didn’t sleep at all either. I’d love to get some rest. Let me just fetch my own bed-hides. Oh, and I need to tell Catria and Est to not wait for me.”

Palla hurried outside, and Minerva found that the loneliness was tolerable. At least now she knew it wasn’t for very long.

 

She was lying on her back when Palla returned. She’d left her armor in her tent, kept her linen tunic and woollen breeches. Her sword rested on top of the furs in her arms. She was about to place her furs beside Minerva’s, but stopped herself.

“I should ask – where can I sleep?”

“I’d like to have you close”, Minerva said with an apologizing smile. “Like last time. It helped me. If it’s agreeable for you.”

“Absolutely. Just making sure.”

She lay down, also on her back. She seemed stiff. Had she meant what she said? Would she take offense if Minerva asked her again?

“Commander, do you... Do you think Maria is safe?”

Minerva looked to the side, met Palla’s gaze head-on.

“Maria is clever and kind. I have no other choice but to believe she’ll handle herself.” As Minerva said it, she felt more convinced of it. Her mind remained stable, anchored in Palla’s presence.

“I believe it too.”

They were silent, and Minerva eventually turned to her side to face Palla properly. Her heart felt lighter at the sight of her.

“Commander—“

“Call me _Minerva_ , please. Now that Maria isn’t here— I fear I’ll forget my own name, with everyone using titles all the time.”

Palla chuckled lightly. “I’ll happily oblige to that. I might as well give up trying to be formal around you.”

Minerva felt a smile tug at her lips. “Finally.”

Palla closed her eyes, but Minerva caught that she was about to roll them. “I’ll ignore that remark.”

They lay like that for a few moments, before Palla opened her eyes again.

“This might sound like a strange question, but with all this... How... How do you feel?”

Minerva frowned. It was a strange question, but lovely, too. Lovely to hear that someone wanted to know. She wasn’t sure how to answer, though.

“My world was like a pearl of glass, you know”, she began, frowning deeper. “And now it got stepped on, and the shards kicked into a pile of rot. I don’t know where any of the damned pieces are anymore. Does that make sense?”

Palla scratched her chin with an uncertain laugh. “It does. It started off kind of poetic and nice, too. Such harsh words at the end though, not very royal of you.”  
Minerva snorted, surprised that she could laugh. She bent her head and let her forehead touch Palla’s. The warmth of a trusted friend, spreading over to her.

“Thank you for staying.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

Minerva did not remember anything after that, just assumed she had fallen asleep.

There were no nightmares hunting her.


	15. Crimson Dragoon

The sounds of celebration were all around them.

“Praise be General Volzhin, the end of Archanea!”

“Holy family’s downfall!”

Cheers.

Toasts.

Minerva’s hair was stroked gently by a gust of wind, momentarily intertwining her red strands with Palla’s moss-green. They were standing on the top of a hill, military tents spread out around them as far as the eye could see.

She had no need to partake in the celebrations. The conquering of the Archanean palace in itself wasn’t her victory. Her Macedonan army had merely cleared the rear for Volzin’s force of Grustians, so no one expected her to stand in the ashes and look pleased by the praise.

Thank the gods.

Minerva had her eyes on the Archanean capital by the horizon, her face as if set in stone. Years of minimal movement had perfected her mask of cruel indifference. An expressionless statue, hiding the hollowness that never receded its suffocating presence inside her. The hollowness was nothing new; she’d carried it inside her for years, now.  
But the emptiness was especially wide as the height of summer drew closer. The anniversary of Michalis taking on the crown.

“Six years.” As she said it, a warm hand enclosed hers.

“Indeed, and yet here we are, still.” Palla’s voice had dropped the tone of a soldier. Instead, Minerva heard the soothing whisper of an elder sister comforting her siblings. She rarely spoke that way to anyone except Minerva lately.

The hollowness inside her retreated slightly at the sound, and she squeezed Palla’s fingers in response. The breeze caught in Palla’s hair again, some of it brushing against Minerva’s cheek. It had grown out in the years that had passed since it had been torn by a junior’s sword, and while Palla kept it neatly braided in battle, she preferred to have it flow freely down her shoulders when she wasn’t fighting. It was lovely to see something unrestrained, for once.

They stood in silence for a while, Minerva’s heart aching as she listened to the glee of the proud soldiers around them.

“Archanea has fallen”, Minerva said finally. Stating the obvious made her feel less like a corpse. Perhaps a human, even.

“So it has.” Palla brushed the back of Minerva’s hand with her thumb before she let go. “Only Aurelis and Talys remain, now.”

Minerva stared at the sky, watching as manakete took on their dragon form and soared around the clouds of dusk. Was that their way of celebrating? Although why would _they_ hold ceremony – what was six years to an immortal beast? What was the loss of countless human lives to them, as long as they got what they wanted?

Her fingers felt as if coated by ice.

She should know better than to think, to question. She’d lived the life of war for so long she could barely remember the bliss of peace. Every time she closed her eyes and Palla wasn’t around, her mind repeated the same kind of blurs; masses of people that dropped their weapons and fled from the sight of her, despite knowing they couldn’t possibly escape. Soldiers that faced Titania’s jaws and took the last of their strength to throw themselves at her axe for a less messy death. Soldiers crying for mercy as she cut their friends down.

The hole inside her burned at the memories, but what did another fire mean among so many? A charred soul does not feel.

It would have been easier to give in, to become the monster everyone saw, tell herself that the pain would disappear if she accepted that light no longer existed.

But she couldn’t lie to herself.

Not when Palla put her arm around her shoulders.

Not when Catria laughed at Est’s childish jokes.

Not when Titania rubbed her face against hers.

Not when she could still recall Maria’s embrace, and her eager smiles.

She’d been allowed to see Maria three times. An hour, total.

One hour in six years. She’d burn kingdoms to the ground for less.

The war had to end at some point. It felt closer than ever, now, but a whisper deep within did not let go of the feeling that the end would not be so simple as tearing down the remainder of Doluna’s enemies.

Whatever awaited, it wasn’t her place to think about it.

 

“General Minerva”, she heard from behind her. She turned her head around, moving as little as possible. Unnecessary movements were human things. Not meant for her.

A soldier from Grust saluted her. An odd salute to the forehead, the Grustian way. “General Bentheon wishes to see you.”

 _How fantastic_ , Minerva thought dismissively, but she followed the soldier to the fellow general’s tent, Palla at her heel.

Bentheon was one of the leaders over the Grustian army that had laid waste to a minuscule part of western Archanea. A feat that had apparently given him status equal Minerva’s, which was absurd considering that his skill as a soldier was far below a decent standard. She’d seen enough from his pathetic displays of sparring in front of his cadets.

“Ah, General!” Bentheon’s voice rumbled as she entered. “How glorious – here, have a look at this!”

It was impossible _not_ to look at what he was referring to. The general crouched on the ground, hands firmly pressed against the throat of a young soldier in gold and green. The colors of Aurelis.

The soldier choked, eyes bulging. But just before he lost consciousness, the general loosened his grip and the air was hungrily drawn back into his lungs.

“I just got this little rat into my tent”, Bentheon rumbled on. “He was almost close to getting me, you know.”

 _How unfortunate that he didn’t_ , Minerva thought, but her face didn’t budge.

“I figured I’d show you how we deal with rotten assassins in Grust”, the general said as he once again started choking the young assassin. “As a token of our... friendship.”

Rather, a show of his cruelty and might. Every general in the Dolunan force seemed desperate for that kind of reputation. One that Minerva had acquired easier than most.

“He’s been quite fun so far. My favorite kind of celebration, eh? I can do this for hours.”

He let go, listened to the hungry gasp for air, then pushed at his throat again.

 _Stop_ , Minerva wanted to cry out. She wanted to bash his face in. She wanted so many things, but there was no room for sympathy in the Dolunan force.

“May I show you how we deal with rotten assassins in Macedon?” she asked instead.

Bentheon smiled broadly at her and let go. “I’m known for my generosity – he’s all yours!”

She’d swung Hauteclare enough times to make the movement shorter than a second. The Aurelian soldier had his head split before he could have known what was coming at him. At least it was quick.

Bentheon reined backwards, his face stunned.

“You... You _killed_ him! You robbed me of his death!”

Minerva only shrugged. “No blood, no fun. _That’s_ how we do things in Macedon.”

Bentheon’s hands trembled, and he shoved them inside his sleeves.

“Get _out_ of my _tent_ ”, he hissed.

Minerva shrugged again. On the inside, she smiled slightly.

_He’s scared of me._

In the light of things, being feared by such a man felt absolutely fine by her.

\---

A few days after the Dolunan allies had settled their victory over Archanea, a strategy meeting was held in the halls of the Archanean palace.

Hung before the castle gates were the late royal family, their ropes creaking as the wind travelled across the empty courtyards. Some of Minerva’s fellow generals punched at their feet as they passed under them, laughed as they swung. Shouting at the corpses that their daughter Nyna would join them soon.

Perhaps it would be better if Minerva did the same as them, to prove her alliance, establish that these deaths meant nothing to her. But she wouldn’t. She passed by without a glance.

The inside of the palace wasn’t much better, with blood on the floor tiles and slaughtered Archanean soldiers scattered about. Bodies not important enough to burn.  
Minerva entered the council room and took her place among humans and manakete, eyes set on nothing and everyone.

“Great General Khozen has brought me the emperor’s orders.” The manakete by the head of the table drilled his claws into the wood. He didn't bother with any welcoming words; this was business and nothing else. Every eye turned to the lead manakete, Minerva glancing at him from under half-closed eyelids.

“Princess Nyna is no longer of any use to Doluna", the manakete continued. "Her execution is demanded by Medeus himself.”

No one had expected otherwise. The last princess of the Holy Family of Archanean emperors and empresses, who’d been kept alive to uncover any secrets that the broken kingdom still might hide, were to join her family above the castle gates.

Minerva’s heart twisted a little, but she did not let it show.

The manakete by the head of the table pushed his claws further down the wood, the table’s boards creaking and breaking. “Except”, he hissed, “she is no longer in Grustian custody, thanks to the _humiliating inadequacy_ of General Camus.”

The youngest of the Grustian generals stood with his chin high, his expression an impressive copy of Minerva’s. The manakete was quiet for a moment, but General Camus said nothing. The manakete hissed and let go of the table, balling his hands into fists.

“This is what happens when you leave Grust in charge of something so important”, one of the few Generals from Gra sneered. “With all due respect.”

“I’ll show you _respect_!” spat the Grustian beside Minerva. She knew what would come, and took a small step to the side, watched lazily as the general smacked the other over the ear with his chair. Three headstrong allied nations, fighting for Doluna’s favor; it was nothing she hadn’t seen before.

The ruckus died down almost immediately as another manakete bashed the skulls of both brawlers into the floor. Whether it was for their heads to clear or their heads to break, Minerva didn’t know. Or care. It got the job done, especially as the general from Gra never stood again.

 _Good riddance_.

“The little maggot princess has crawled out of our sight”, the lead manakete continued, still with his narrowed eyes set on General Camus, as if the ruckus had never happened. “However, she is alone and weak, and the only place to hide is Aurelis. We will tear that eyesore of a nation to the ground, and bring her along with it.”

“It would be an honor, sire.” General Bentheon’s voice from the other side of the table. The head manakete only scoffed at him, and stretched his wings. His gleaming eyes landed on Minerva.

“Crimson Dragoon.”

Minerva turned her full focus on the manakete, her hand over her heart in attention. She had once hated responding to such a title, but now she’d gotten used to it.

The _Fearless Protector_ was something buried and forgotten. Hers was the color of blood and the thunderous roars of wyverns.

Hers was the name of a monster.

“Emperor Medeus wants the full Macedonan force in Aurelis by the end of the month.”

She’d expected this. If they wanted a quick victory in the land of mountains, sky knights were the obvious choice. She bowed her head, already mapping their route in her thoughts.

“It shall be done, sire.”

 

The rest of the meeting went by relatively smoothly, dispatching the remaining generals around the conquered land. Minerva listened half-heartedly. General Bentheon received orders to stay and watch over an area of eastern Archanea, so Minerva would never have to see or hear from him again. Good news.  
As they were dismissed, they all had to step over the body of the general from Gra to get out of the room. No one bothered to move him, especially not since the manakete who’d broken up the fight stood by the wall, slowly sucking the blood off his claws, shimmering eyes following their movements.

Only on rare occasion did every general in the army of Dolunan allies leave a strategy meeting unscathed. The injuries were mostly scratches and bruised eyes and egos, since the generals reckless enough to die for speaking out of turn had already done so years ago.

Hot-headed fools had no place in the Dolunan army. The manakete took any chance they got to satisfy their hunger for death, although nothing seemed to amuse them more than humans tearing each other apart. Cruelty was the language of their common ground, a language frighteningly easy to learn.  
Minerva scraped the blood off her boots on the exquisite red carpet outside the room, and then continued on.

As she returned to her tent, she’d expected at least a moment of calm before preparing the march to Aurelis. She’d knelt before her maps on the ground, but the sound of wings interrupted her thoughts, gusts of wind tearing at her tent walls. Only a moment after, a wyvern rider dressed in Macedonan red and gold stomped in. Palla froze in the middle of polishing her armour and Minerva arose with her hand on Hauteclere’s shaft.

“First General Minerva”, the wyvern knight greeted her. “I bring word from His Majesty Michalis, Second coming of Iote and King of Macedon.”

Minerva let go of Hauteclere to quickly move into a salute. “First General Minerva answers.”

The wyvern knight had not removed his visor. His voice was metallic and distorted. “Archanea’s downfall is a great victory. His Majesty wishes to reward you for your progress. You may follow me to Castle Deil.”

Minerva barely looked at Palla before rushing out of the tent.

' _Castle Deil_ ' was always at the front of her thoughts, a place she hated with burning passion and longed for more than anything else. Maria’s prison.

Never before had Minerva been allowed there in such quick succession – just a year had passed since last time. Minerva almost didn’t bother saddling Titania in her hurry to follow Michalis messenger.

  
Every moment she got to see Maria alive was worth the endless turmoil of blood and burning voids, and she wouldn’t let anything get in her way.


	16. Captive Princess

Sharp claws scratched the stone as the massive body of Titania bent down to land on the floors outside Castle Deil.  
Creaking noises travelled across the castle courtyard as the sentries drew their longbows, and Titania snorted irritably. If there was anything that could make a wyvern close to nervous, it was bows, their worst enemy out in the field. One ballista was enough to send several flying squadrons plummeting to their doom. Luckily for Minerva, Doluna’s infantry cleaned up any such dangers before she and her fliers were let loose, and were she alone with her Macedonan army, she had a talented cavalry to do that job for her.  
Minerva slid down from the saddle, landing on the crushed stone tiles, still cracking under the weight of her mount.

 _Everything is fragile below the feet of a wyvern_ , Minerva thought to herself as she glanced towards the squad of castle guards that had come to meet her. _Especially tiny soldier heads_.

The thought gave her little pleasure, only frustration. Here she was, finally. Bound to comply. Always, always, bound to comply.  
She removed her belt, left Hauteclare and all her fifteen throwing axes on the ground and stroked Titania’s muzzle with a whisper. ”Stay and behave yourself.”  
The wyvern glared back at her but lay down, causing more floor tiles to crack below her. Minerva stepped toward the assembly of longbowmen, but was interrupted by a spear point to her pauldron.

“General Zharov”, Minerva greeted. She didn’t need to turn around to know whom the spear belonged to.

“Welcome to our humble castle once again, _Crimson Dragoon_. Congratulations on your success in Archanea.”

Minerva turned her gaze to see his face. His hardened cheekbones were as always grazed by strips of brown hair that had escaped his attempt to comb it back, casting shadows over his forehead that made his eyes seem colder than they otherwise would. Minerva usually forgot the looks of most people she met, but she had every detail of General Zharov’s face memorized from the many times she had visualized cutting it to pieces. “Thank you, General", she said flatly. "I am here for Maria.”

“And here I hoped you were here for the pleasure of my company.”

Minerva looked away to avoid giving him a deathly glare.

“Ah, well”, General Zharov sighed contentedly and fingered a small device around his neck. “Come along. I’m turning the hourglass. Ten minutes are yours.”

The sentries sheathed their bows and formed a tight ring around Minerva, hurriedly ushering her away from the snarling wyvern. Minerva barely had enough room to place her feet, but went along with it. It was all she could hope for that they didn’t request her hands to be bound, or for her to be put into a rolling cage. If that had been the case, she would still agree. She’d agree to anything.

The sentries followed her all the way down to the dungeons. The ring of soldiers covered the walls from her sight, but she had no wish to see them. She knew already in what kind of prison her sister was held. She had no need to be reminded.  
In a synchronized movement, two of the sentries separated to stand on both sides of a metal door. Minerva’s gut twisted at the sight. She held her head high, however, not letting any emotion shine through the barricade of her face.  
The door opened, and she stepped inside.

”Maria?”

She sat on the bedside. The bed was tidily made, with sheets covering the straw mattress. A fireplace was lit in one of the corners of the cell, and a barred window gave a narrow glimpse of the sky outside. Nothing had turned to the worse in terms of furnishing since Minerva had last visited, at least.  
Maria’s face lit up with a beaming smile, and she stood.

“ _Sister_!”

She looked as if she were close to throwing herself into Minerva’s arms, but stopped herself last moment. Contact was forbidden. The sentries behind Minerva had the right to call off the meeting at any moment, and they wouldn’t hesitate to do so. If word got out that they had shown sympathy and cooperated with the sisters, they’d be severely punished. Maria had mentioned the death of sentries she’d learned the names of, and who’d let her wander the castle corridors under surveillance. General Zharov had gotten word of the sentries warming up to their prisoner, and the bones of those very people still littered the courtyard outside. Kindness was Maria’s weapon, and General Zharov wouldn’t let her use it.

Maria had said this so calmly, stating a matter-of-fact, but her eyes had lost their focus for a moment, leaving Minerva a hair away from testing if she could take on fifteen sentries with her bare hands. But she knew better than to risk her sister’s life like that.

“Maria…”

Minerva could barely speak, seeing her smile so broadly. Seeing her so much taller than her last visit, her hair’s torn edges reaching the tip of her shoulder-blades, her face with the features of an adult, but her eyes still gleaming like a child’s.

Minerva’s face twisted, tears enclosing her vision in a glassy blur. Her intention of keeping an emotionless appearance was meaningless here. What was the point of maintaining that facade now? She _wanted_ Maria to see her. See that she hadn’t turned into the monster everyone believed her to be.

She blinked furiously. She wasted time, but what was there she could possibly say? What could she do? She had so many questions, but right then it was as if none of them were important at all. Maria was there. She was safe. ”Have... Um, have they treated you well?”

Maria tilted her head, clasping her hands over her chest. ”Oh, they have! They let me study healing arts again now. I’m so glad! I gave the leg back to a spider yesterday!”

“That’s... fantastic.” Minerva had no idea what else to say. “So, does that mean you’re, uh, enjoying your present I gave you last time?" Minerva had been allowed to bring a small mending staff on her last visit, and she still treasured how Maria’s eyes had sparkled of childish joy.

“It’s _amazing_!” The way she formed the words, it was almost as if it was a ten-year-old Est speaking. “I’m saving it for bigger things than insects, but I did use it for a bird with a torn wing that fell outside my window not too long ago. I learned that from the tome you gave.”

Three years ago, when Minerva had first been allowed to visit, she had given a tome that taught healing arts, and it was read so much it was torn at the sides, lying beside Maria’s bed.

Maria put her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels, her eyes darting to the small barred window. “So how is the outside world?”

“Oh, it’s...” Minerva cleared her throat. “It’s lively. Archanea just fell. And Est misses you a lot. She’s so good to mom’s old Pegasus, and would love to take you on a ride with her someday.” As she spoke the last words, she felt as if a heavy weight crushed down on her tongue, and she was unable to continue. Maria was not bothered, however, as she danced around the room in a clumsy pirouette.

“I think I’d love that”, she said dreamily while looking at the ceiling. She stopped moving and looked at Minerva, a weak smile on her lips. “It’s so funny, you know. I never thought _I_ would miss the feeling of flight. But I do. I miss how free I was.”

Minerva felt as though her heart stopped beating for a moment. Michalis’ face flickered in her mind, his pleased smile as he leaned back in the throne, before the image melted into shapeless sand, spreading blackness like oil inside her.

_One day, he’ll pay._

The thought seethed in her mind.

_One day, I’ll kill him._


	17. A Crown of Dread

Aurelis never stood much of a chance.

Since it was one of the smaller nations on the continent - almost nothing but plains, mostly hidden in mountains - Doluna would have been fools to target them before Archanea, their strongest foe. Six years Aurelis had been left alone, but no longer. As long as human freedom remained, the Dragon Emperor Medeus would never rest. Doluna were fine with human soldiers and slaves, sometimes even happily rewarding the cruellest of humans with fame and riches; though ultimately, anything other than manakete was no more than ants to them. And without Archanea to aid Aurelis, its people were crushed as such.

The Aurelian infantry crumbled within months, with Minerva’s army of Dragoons pushing relentlessly through every valley. Titania’s mighty wing-beats led the way for thousands of other sky knights, while the Macedonan cavalry beneath them mowed down any enemy defenses in their path.

By the end of the month, Aurelis’ main capital was in sight at the horizon.

 

Minerva had left lesser Macedonan commanders to guard key spots, relieved to part ways with them. The only lesser general she'd chosen to remain at her side was general Merach, her favorite second in command. General Merach was capital born, had an undying pride for his nation and was keen on pleasing his superior; perhaps even _loyal_. It was quite refreshing to get things done without having to butt heads with officers that longed to take Minerva’s place but weren’t fools enough to _actually_ challenge her. Whether general Merach bowed his head out of loyalty to Michalis rule or fear of Minerva’s prowess, he at least knew he was below her and would remain so. Minerva was content with that.

 

There shouldn’t have been anything complicating their advance toward the capital, but one afternoon a stranger’s face appeared in their ranks.

The stranger rode forward, unarmed and with hands in the air. He wore no specific color, and he had five other riders following him. They too were unarmed, and they all stopped by the edge of the camp, surrounded by Minerva’s soldiers in red and gold. From her tent further up the mountainside, Minerva kept her eyes on them with her hand on one of her throwing axes, should the strangers attempt to move further into her territory.

“I am no enemy”, the stranger bellowed. “I am a humble villager, and I’ve come to plead to you. Where’s your chief of command?”

General Merach stepped forth. “She has no time for you”, Minerva heard him say. “Be gone before we kill you.”

Minerva should have just shrugged it off; after all, the Aurelian forces weren’t yet too defeated to set traps. Palla seemed to agree. She stood by her side at the entrance to her tent, silently shaking her head at Minerva.

But Minerva _was_ interested. What could be so important so that a humble villager – unlikely to be true, all strangers had the eyes of soldiers – would risk his life to say it?  
She brushed Palla’s shoulder with her hand.

“Stay here.”

“Order or suggestion?” Palla spoke so quietly, no one could possibly hear aside from Minerva. The Whitewings usually acted like any other soldier when they could be seen or heard, so for Palla to voice her dissatisfaction with one of Minerva’s orders in the open was a sure sign she was truly uncomfortable with the situation.  
Rightfully so, perhaps.

“Ah, fine”, Minerva answered under her breath. “Come with me, then."

She walked forward with brisk steps and pushed past Merach when she reached the strangers by the edge of the camp.

“Don’t speak for me, general”, she said without looking at Merach. “I will hear your plea, stranger.”

The villager bowed to her, two fingers over his lips, an unfamiliar gesture. Perhaps that was part of an Aurelian or Archanean greeting.

“Great Crimson Dragoon”, he said. The name seemed to linger in the air, circled around Minerva’s head like a crown. A crown of dread.

“I am not here to ask you to turn around and leave this land alone, because I know the ways of war”, the stranger continued. “But it has come to my knowledge – firsthand, I’m sad to say – that a group of your soldiers have branched out to raid and pillage innocent civilians. I plead for you to rein them in. My home was destroyed, and many more will go the same path at this rate.”

Minerva felt like she’d walked straight into a wall, her head pounded and her nose felt tight. Her emotionless mask crackled into one of disgust.

“ _Deserters_?” In her anger, she couldn’t stop herself from pulling Merach closer by grabbing his collar. “Why did I not know of this?”

Merach tried his best to maintain balance. “I had no idea, General – this is a big army, and—“

She pushed him away, putting a balled fist against her forehead. “ _Damn_ it...”

“General, it’s nothing awful”, Merach tried to encourage her. “Every army has a few deserters seeking personal fortune, we shouldn’t stray from our path when we’re this close to the capital—“

“They shall _follow me_ or _DIE_!” Minerva’s voice rumbled over the entire camp, echoing over the mountain walls around them. From the stable-tents, the roar of a familiar wyvern called out in agreement. Titania had made a habit of raising her voice along with Minerva’s.

“No one deserts the Macedonan force”, she fumed. “Let one group go and others will soon follow. I will pull out any seed of rebellion and salt the earth where they grew.”

She turned to the stranger. He looked a bit stunned by her reaction, but he still sat straight and proud.

“As soon as possible, I and a small force will hunt the deserters down.” She glanced at the general beside her. “Merach, you are in charge of advancing to the capital. If no deserter is found within a week, I'll call off the search and shall soon catch up to you.”

Merach saluted her, a hand over his heart. “It’ll be my personal pleasure, First General!”

Minerva turned back, her eyes meeting Palla’s for the fraction of a moment. Her knight stood perfectly attentive and indifferent, save for one of her eyebrows slightly raised. Surprise, but pleasant or not?

Minerva shouldn’t think about it now.

She looked away, steadily landing with her gaze on the stranger. “You lead the way, _villager_.”

\---

Minerva’s small force began their journey almost immediately, riding far enough into the smaller trails in the woods so they could no longer hear the distant murmur of Minerva’s Dragoons. She’d thought she’d feel unsafe, but leaving the suffocating crowd of the Macedonan army had been a surprising relief, a weight off her chest. Now they were so few - just her, the Whitewings, the stranger and his five companions, and a dozen Macedonan paladins Minerva had chosen. Neither of them spoke much, but it was so refreshing to be able to see everyone’s face, and know that it was all there was.

The darkness eventually thickened around them, and when Catria’s Pegasus blindly slammed its hoof into a boulder by the trail, the stranger finally called for a stop.  
They lit their fire, and Catria stayed behind to care for her Pegasus injury, but Minerva preferred to disappear into the darkness. She stopped by the outskirts of the field they’d set up their camp in, looking up at the stars above.

“Trying to avoid kitchen duty, Commander?”

Minerva turned her head, saw Palla’s smile in the full moonlight. She smiled back, best she could.

“Not intentionally. Forgot we don’t have kitchen retainers here. Am I needed?”

Est appeared from behind Palla, and threw her arms around her sister’s shoulders. “No, no, those strangers are doing a fine job of it! We needn’t trouble ourselves, they said. Although personally I’d eat from my own hidden supply of food; perhaps it’s better if you do too. Not that I’d like to _believe_ they’d poison us or anything, but I mean, we don’t even know their names – the leader one has called himself both ‘Don’ and ‘Arvid’ when we asked, so he’s not saying any truths, and I refuse to believe the cute one is _actually_ named Wolf, it doesn’t fit him at _all_. He has to be lying too. What I’m saying is, they don't trust us, so it’d be kind of silly to call them _friends_ , you know?”

Minerva’s smile weakened. “You think I made the wrong decision in following up on their story?”

Est bobbed her head to the sides. “No, that’s not what I meant. I _like_ this.” She poked Palla on the cheek with a teasing grin. “It’s fun to be around new people every once in a while. Plus, this is almost like your old missions, right? I can finally be a part of that, for real!”

Palla pulled her head away from Est’s finger with a mild smile, before looking at Minerva. “You have considered that this might just be a ruse to get you away from the capital though, right Commander?”

“Of course I have”, Minerva answered. “But I cannot ignore the possibility that it isn’t. I won’t let civilians be slaughtered by my own people. I’m not forced to stand by this time – they disobey me, and I will gladly punish those who prey on the weak of their own free will.”

The full moon cast shadows over their faces, but Minerva could still see Est give her a toothy smile.

“It’s been a while since I heard you say such things, Commander.”

Palla looked up at the sky. Droplets had formed in the corner of her eyes, reflecting more of the moonlight for a short moment before she wiped them away with her free hand.

“ _Fearless Protector_ ”, Minerva heard her whisper.

Those two words were enough to tear at her heart, and Minerva pressed her fingers into her eyes. She could not feel her toes. If it was because of the dew sinking through her leather boots or if the emotional numbness had started to physically manifest, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she felt _old_. If she lived long enough, her twenty-third nameday would pass any day now. At least she figured, it was late summer, after all. Macedon’s trees should be shifting to bright red by now, a symbol of pride for any citizen. Crimson, just like their beloved royal family always had been. Whether the red hair was present or not, it was the eyes that were truly unique to their family, carried over from the legendary hero Iote.

Minerva quietly wondered if the Macedonan citizens had any pride left. Was there any love for Michalis? She doubted it, since most of her soldiers were there because the only other option was facing the executioner’s axe.

So maybe deserters were to be expected. She would flee this mad war too, if only she could.

“Hey, um, Commander? Still there?” Est’s voice.

Minerva angled her head mechanically, trying to focus on Est in the darkness.

“I never had the opportunity to ask before”, Est continued, her voice more serious. “But a month ago when you got to visit Maria, how... How was she?”

Minerva surprised even herself as she let out a short laugh. She laughed at the dark of the clouds, at the life that corroded away, at the hate that took its place.

“Oh, _very_ well.” She lowered her voice, murmuring so that she herself could barely hear it. “They let her practice her magic, they let her hum to herself without banging on the door, and some weeks before I visited they had her tied to a pole in the middle of the yard in direct sunlight for which she was so _grateful_ because it was the first time in three years she felt proper sun on her cheeks.”

Minerva had clenched her fists without noticing, and stretched her fingers, slowly. She stared out into the darkness, her breathing shallow.  
Her heart hammered, the shadows twirling in front of her. Dancing. Jeering.

“No”, she breathed. “I shouldn’t complain like this. Maria never does... I shouldn’t... She’s alive. That’s what matters.”

She looked to the side. Palla had bent her head, said nothing. She’d heard this before, during the nights Minerva sat up in the small hours, desperately clutching at the sheets, and hiding her face in the covers. Palla never failed to wake, never failed to sit up beside her, and listen. She’d reach out a hand and hold onto Minerva’s, something she didn’t do now. Or perhaps she did, and it was just too dark for Minerva to notice. She didn’t dare look closer, for fear of being proven wrong.

In the corner of her vision, she saw Est focus intensely on the moon. She was visibly trying to not move her face, but her upper lip twisted a little.

“I wish I could go visit her, too”, she whispered.

Minerva looked up into the sky as well. “I extended a greeting from you to her.”

“It’s a small consolation, but thanks.”

“She misses all of you.” Minerva’s neck smarted, and she looked down once again. “But she mentioned you specifically, Est. She said she loved the offer of flying with you.”

Est was still focusing solely on the moon. Her cheeks shimmered.

“It wasn’t an offer”, she whispered. “It was a _promise_. She’ll be here with us again. She has to. And whenever it happens... everything will be as it was, right?” No one said anything, and Est shut her eyes as hard as she could, her voice thickening. “Commander, I... I can’t really remember what she looks like. I try to picture it, you know, but the only face I see... is yours.”

Minerva didn’t know what else to say. Est was sixteen, about as old as Minerva had been when the world started to go mad.  _It's so wrong_ , she thought. _All of it._

The hopelessness lay around her like a blanket, but some of the heaviness lifted as Catria joined them. Palla let out a shocked gasp as Catria threw her arms around both her sister’s shoulders.

“Hullo, lovelies”, she said, and took a big bite of a carrot she carried. “Sorry if I’m late to the moon-gazing, Mara wasn’t very cooperative. She shoved this into my arms though, so she must have been grateful. Pegasi don’t joke around their carrots. Warms my heart – her giving me a gift.”

Est leaned her head against Catria’s shoulder.

“It warms _my_ heart that _you’re_ finally here”, Est said, her voice slowly returning to a teasing tone.

Catria took another bite, chewing thoughtfully with a sideward glance at Est. “That’s nice of you, sis”, she munched. “Though that came a bit out of the blue. I missed some conversation, didn’t I?”

“Just that Maria says hi to you as well, Catria.” Minerva had her hands behind her back, not attempting to join in on the hug. Right then, she felt undeserving of warmth.

Catria nodded and rubbed her nose against her sleeve. “Damn it. She should be here. It never stops feeling empty, does it?”

Minerva pushed her fingers into her eyes again, another pathetic attempt to shut out the world, just for a few blessed moments. “It doesn’t”, she whispered out into the night.  
She felt a hand take a hold of her arm, and pull her into the circle of warmth.

“This won’t last forever”, she heard Palla’s voice beside her. Minerva couldn't keep her eyes shut at that, she carefully removed her hands, and her gaze met Palla's. Such a soothing, soft presence. “And we’re with you until it ends.”

Minerva felt Est close her into the huddle, her hands on her shoulders. It was all so familiar, so wonderfully warm.

Yet at the same time, so hatefully cold. The absence of Maria remained a bleeding void.

“We’ve managed pretty darn well so far”, Catria smiled at Minerva and leaned in closer so that they could see each other properly in the darkness. “Let’s just kick these deserters into the afterlife and get back on track again.”

Behind her, Est bounced a little, still with her hands on Minerva’s shoulders.

“Wooh!” she squealed. “Heads up, baddies - the _Whitewings_ are on the move!”

\---

Frost was in the air when night came. Minerva was torn out of her sleep with one violent shudder, the remaining pieces of her dreamscape still in her mind. Distant screams of terror, Michalis by their father’s deathbed, Maria swinging above the gates of Castle Deil like the Archanean royals...  
She forced her eyes open, still shivering. The moon shone through the tent’s walls, so Minerva could see her own breaths like puffs of steam.  
The linen tunic and wool pants she slept in did nothing to warm her. She tried to pull her covers closer around her, but couldn’t find them, her hands only fumbling the air behind her.

She shuddered again and turned around.

Palla lay with her back toward her, both blankets hanging over her shoulders.

“Come on”, Minerva breathed, her chuckle getting stuck in her cold throat. “Palla, that’s mean.”

Palla didn’t react, she continued her silent breathing.

Minerva lifted the blankets carefully, rolling in closer. Palla muttered something incomprehensible, but didn’t move.

Palla’s warmth wrapped around Minerva as she closed the double blankets around them. She breathed out in a content sigh, the rhythm of Palla’s silent snores rocking her, keeping her safe from the darkness and fear.

Minerva’s eyelids fluttered.

_“This is your sister.” Queen Fridh’s voice was as soft as feathers when she whispered._

_Minerva opened and closed her fists nervously as she looked into the bundle in her mother’s arms._

_“We’ve decided to call her Maria”, the queen continued. “Like my grandmother.”_

_Fridh crouched in front of Minerva._

_“Would you like to hold her?”_

_Minerva wasn’t too sure, but she held out her arms._

_“Careful. Yes, like that, great sweetie.”_

_The bundle moved in her arms, and let out a sound like a baby crow. Minerva liked those. Perhaps she could like this bundle, too._

_She used a finger to carefully pull the wrappings down, and was met by the wrinkliest face she’d seen. Two small hands got freed from under the duvets when Minerva had pulled them down, and one of the hands bumped into Minerva’s finger. The face frowned in confusion before two eyes opened, keenly looking into Minerva’s._  
_For a moment, the bundle was still, but then the arms waved happily, a clueless, toothless smile taking place instead of the confusion._

_Minerva refused to leave the queens quarters for three days after that._

_She walked between the rooms with the baby in her arms, sat with her back to her mother’s armor rack, stood by the window. Only reluctantly letting go when there was need of it._ _Always talking to her._

_“We live in Macedon”, Minerva explained to her sister as Maria lay in a cradle, sucking on her fist. “We’re princesses, actually. A princess is someone who decides what to do, and someone who protects her people. It’s scary sometimes, but I’ll teach you some tricks if you want, later.”_

_“Those are Pegasi and wyverns”, she said as she looked out of the window, holding a sleeping Maria in her arms. “We have a lot of them here, and they help us. We can build and repair things up high, and we can keep watch for scary stuff from the air. And we battle with them, but only if we have to. We both have to be bigger to do that, though.”_

_“Did you know that there are dragon-people up north?” she asked the clueless baby as they lay side by side on a mattress, Minerva holding a book with intricate illustrations. “See, that’s a dragon, on the top of the page. I’ve never seen one, but they like to be alone, so it’s no wonder. I think they can be scary, but they don’t want to bother us humans. Dad says so, and he’s always right about stuff. That’s because he’s the king, he has to think a lot.”_

_When they finally left the rooms, Minerva was still the one holding her sister. She’d gotten used to the weight and feeling of something warm and alive against her arms._

_They met both the king and her brother in the hallways, and all four stopped._

_“Haven’t seen much of you, lately”, Michalis greeted her._

_Minerva smiled broadly. “I was teaching Maria.”_

_Michalis raised a brow, but said nothing._

_“Would you like to hold her?”_

_Michalis stepped closer, uncertainly looking down into Minerva’s arms before he carefully lifted the bundle, eyes focused._ _Then, he smiled one of his rare smiles, one finger gently stroking the covers over Maria._

_“Look at her”, he said. His voice wasn’t teasing or mean._

_Minerva could tell he already loved Maria, just as she did._

_“One sister was good”, Michalis smiled, looking at Minerva for a moment. “So I suppose having two sisters can only be great.”_

 

Minerva awoke. Tears lay like frost in the corners of her eyes, but she wasn’t shivering.

 _I am warm_ , Minerva thought. Palla had turned around, one hand resting on Minerva’s upper arm. For that one short moment, she would let herself pretend.

_I am warm. I am safe._

She fumbled with her own hand, placed it over Palla’s. The cold was outside. Not there.

Delusional, perhaps, but she savored it as she fell asleep once again.

_I’m warm._


	18. Deserters

The next morning, Minerva let the strangers pick out a few weapons of their own.

The dark-haired stranger who’d pleaded to her picked up a lance almost too quickly, and when he noticed Minerva regarding him with narrow eyes, he smiled and stabbed the air in front of him in a sloppy manner.

“Reminds me of a pitchfork”, he explained. “Like those we had on my mother’s farm.”

“Right”, Minerva answered flatly.

 

He could pretend to be able to fool her. She didn’t care, as long as he pulled his weight and didn’t bother her troops.

His companions seemed to favor lances as well, save for two of them who chose iron bows - something that didn’t sit entirely right with Minerva. She made sure to watch over them, and for a few hours she believed Est did the same, since the youngest Whitewing rode beside one of the bow-wielders who looked to be about her age. Though she was chatting with him, and cheerfully too.

Minerva caught Catria rolling her eyes at that, and when the sun neared its highest, Catria leaned over to Minerva.

“To think she was heartbroken over that Macedonan mercenary just a week ago”, she chuckled, with a warm gaze on Est.

Minerva only frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, _Commander_ ”, Catria whispered, a secretive smile at Minerva. “Wake up, she’s _flirting_.”

Minerva blinked and looked closer, but saw no difference from a normal conversation. Was there perhaps a slight increase in vivid movements? The bow paladin responded with a face of stone, almost on par with Minerva’s. If Est _was_ flirting, the paladin definitely _wasn’t_ , Minerva could figure out that much.

“Focus on your tracking, won’t you?” Palla whispered over to Catria, although she too was smiling slightly. Clearly, there was some joke here that Minerva felt like she had no part of, but she didn’t mind. The air became almost light-hearted. Like it used to be.

 

Minerva actually dared to enjoy herself, fleeting as it may be. The strangers were no bother, the air was clear from the smoke of a hundred campfires, and the hours passed by without the crushing weight of a thousand eyes on her. Minerva breathed in the smell of pines, and for a moment she was back at the Macedonan northern border, the afternoon sun glinting in between the leaves, and... the sound of distant shouting?

She sat straighter, locking eyes with Catria who’d moved back to the front some hours ago. The Whitewing’s face had hardened – she must have heard the same.

“They aren’t far away now”, Catria cried out, and the air around their group tensed at once.

The strangers held on tightly to their weapons, and the Macedonan soldiers turned their eyes toward Minerva.

“Palla and I will get an overview from above”, Minerva said with her gaze focused on the Macedonan soldier riding closest behind her. “ _Lieutenant_ – lead the charge on the ground. Show no mercy to the traitors.”

The lieutenant’s face paled a little, but he saluted her to acknowledge her command. His face was familiar, something of a distant memory, but she almost didn’t notice. It wasn’t important. She saw thousands of new faces every day, so she brushed it to the side and took to the air, Palla close behind her.

Catria had been right. Only a few lengths above ground, Minerva spotted a village. In turmoil.

 

Soldiers with the crest of New Macedon on their gear dove in and out of houses. One grabbed a boy by the hair and pressed him to the ground, fighting him for a sack in his arms. Another soldier got knocked in the face by a woman protecting her fruit stand, and answered with driving a sword through her ribs.

Minerva’s ground troops had been too far away to be reached by the chaos, but from above, nothing was hidden. Hauteclare sang contentedly in Minerva's bones as she pulled it free from her belt.

Only one signal needed.

_Charge._

Est and Catria left the ground, but before they reached Minerva, she and Palla lunged down toward the village.

Hatred burned fresh inside her, flames that thrived at the sight of the deserter’s eyes widening in fear.

 

Some of them scrambled for their weapons. Others tried to run, but they were only met by the galloping hooves of Minerva’s ground force. Those who had enough time to react and run for the woods instead was driven into the ground by Palla plunging down onto them.

Minerva drilled through the air toward the center of the village. In the corner of her eye she saw one of the traitors aim a bow shakily at her. She darted to the side, the arrow not even remotely close to hit.

She was in front of the archer within a second.

“You _dare_!” she cried and swung Hauteclare. “I am your _GENERAL_!”

The head of the archer tumbled onto the leg of another. A young soldier that had tried to burn away his crest on the armour, but the shield of Iote was still clearly visible on his chest. He looked absolutely mortified, knees buckling as he went down on all four.

“General, please, please, I’ll—“

She recognized him as the one who had sliced open a woman for protecting her fruit only moments before. Minerva spared him in the same way he had spared that woman, his split skull joining the archer’s head.

The air was oddly still after that. She returned to the sky to throw a look around.

The remaining villagers had gotten enough time in the chaos to flee inside and barricade their doors, and all deserters lay overrun or torn apart on the grounds. All but three.

Those three had clung to the wall of a farmhouse. The one in the middle pressed his back to the wall, holding a child tightly by the throat, his filthy fingers digging into its face. Knife at its throat.

Minerva’s breath got stuck in her chest, her arms locked in place.

The child had to be a villager, not older than five namedays. Minerva closed her left hand over the shaft of one of her throwing axes, but didn’t move. The two other deserters had bows drawn, one of them aiming steadily at Minerva, the other switching targets between the Whitewings who hovered in the air close to her.

“Drop your weapons”, the one with the knife yelled.  
The ground troops had the deserters near surrounded, but none of them moved. Minerva’s lieutenant reigned in his horse, the stranger’s squad also stopping dead in his tracks. An eerie silence lay over the village for a few moments before the lieutenant remembered his orders and corrected his lance, spurring his horse forward.

“ _No merc—_ “

“Hold, lieutenant!”

Minerva’s voice cut through the air like a fire arrow. The lieutenant stopped so suddenly he nearly fell off his horse.

The child was bleeding already, breathing in wailing sobs.

“No one moves”, Minerva continued, eyes thin slits. She caught confused glances from her soldiers from the surrounding circle – she’d ordered to strike the traitors down, and what was collateral damage of one child to the troops of Doluna?  
Even the deserters seemed surprised.

“General”, the one with the knife called up to her. “You will let us go free.”

Minerva stared them down, barely blinking. Wishing her gaze could kill.

“Agreed.”

Surprised inhales were heard from below her. Or maybe it was simply the sound of Titania’s wings as she hovered in the air.

“Let the child go”, she called down to them.

The knife-wielder’s eyes darted to and fro. He clearly hadn’t planned for anything to go his way. What did the Crimson Dragoon care for another Aurelian death, after all? Who could have been fool enough to think that a monster’s heart could bleed?

“He comes with us until we’re free”, the deserter called back. “Drop your weapons.”

The stranger and his companions were the first one to let go of their lances, and as soon as Minerva threw Hauteclare into the ground like a throwing axe, her soldiers followed suit.

The world seemed so still. Minerva saw the child’s hands clutch together over his chest, seeking comfort. Maria had used to do that as well, gods be cursed, no—  
Someone broke the silence with a cry. Minerva turned her head with a jolt.

A door hung on broken hinges on a building in the outskirts of the village, and from the opening, a young villager tore free of another villager’s grip. He ran mindlessly, reaching out for the child at knifepoint, calling something that must have been the child’s name.

“Don’t come closer!” The deserters yelled at him, but the villager didn’t seem to hear, his running steps desperately sliding on the gravel path.  
Perhaps he just couldn’t see clearly. Minerva knew all too well what it meant to have one’s mind destroyed by a loved one in danger.

“Stop”, she tried to yell at the runner, and seeing no other way she turned Titania around, aiming to block his path, but he was so quick, he’d reach the circle of soldiers any moment—

She’d barely had time to tug at the reins before the thrum of a bowstring shot through the air. The runner was thrown back and lay sprawled on the dusty ground. The child’s crying had turned into a gurgle, and as Minerva turned Titania back around, she met the eyes of the three deserters.

She saw regret.

She saw fear.

Yet all her capacity for sympathy ran off her as the child’s body was let go into a bleeding heap beneath their feet.

She didn’t need Hauteclare.

The three deserters stood irresolute, now that their only defense was gone. The archers aimed at Minerva’s as she dived, but she barely saw them, Titania acting like an extension of herself as she let the wyvern’s tail whip into them, breaking their bows and skulls.

The third one had enough courage left to hold up a knife at Minerva as she twisted Titania. She didn’t even look as she swatted his knife away and grabbed him by the throat, locking him against the wall.

“When you die, every Macedonan will spit on your grave”, the deserter gargled, his eyes steaming of hate.

“And you’ll never have one”, she snarled back at him. “Know it, and suffer.”

She’d never broken a human neck before with her bare hands. She lifted him off the ground in a sudden, cruel twist, the cold heart inside her revelling in feeling the snap carry over through her own bones.

The body landed beside the still bleeding child, and Minerva half fell out of the saddle in her hurry to join them.

As she saw the child’s empty eyes up close, her knees buckled. Her hands fumbled, tried to pull the throat of the child together again, cradling him.

“Earth magic”, she pleaded. “Please, work for me, please.”

She cursed the Macedonan army’s lack of healers.

She cursed the cruelty of desperate humans, and so she also cursed herself.

And she cursed Michalis.

None of it voiced, because all she could do right then was crumble and fold herself over the body of a child.

 

And in the darkest corner of her mind, she was grateful that it wasn’t Maria in her arms.

\---

The strangers left them at one point or another. They’d all disappeared by the time Palla had carefully lifted the child’s body out of Minerva’s arms, and Minerva couldn’t care less where they’d gone.

The Macedonan soldiers had tied the bodies of the deserters behind their mounts, and they left the village as it was. No more villagers had moved outside their houses. It felt wrong – at the Macedonan border she’d always tried to communicate with the villages she’d cleared, but perhaps it was just as well that she didn’t. Minerva couldn’t imagine even looking them in the eye, much less saying anything. What Aurelian would accept the condolences from the face of death?

The ride back to their main force was solemn. Minerva had once turned around in the saddle and announced that if any word of the happenings in the village got out, she’d personally murder all of them. The Macedonan soldiers paled and nodded. Minerva didn’t like threatening them, but she couldn’t let this disaster lead to rumors. The last thing she needed was for Doluna to question her will to fight.  
Est, who rode in the far back, was awfully quiet during the journey. Too busy to mourn the way her violet-haired bow-paladin had left her without a word, maybe. Although Minerva still couldn’t figure out exactly where Palla and Catria had gotten that idea.

After a few hours ride, the young Macedonan lieutenant surprised her by riding up to the front along with her.

“I have thoughts I need to share with you, General.”

Minerva was tired. She could ignore him, glare at him, anything to make him go away, but she somehow spoke anyway. “Permission granted, lieutenant.”

“The stranger that aided us”, the lieutenant began, “I recognized him, I think. He looked just like a portrait of Prince Hardin, the younger brother of the king of Aurelis. The Aurelians call him the Coyote and I can see why, because the way he fought really looked like one.”

 _Of course_ , Minerva thought. She’d seen the prince’s portrait, just as she’d been shown the faces of every noble enemy in her path, and perhaps she’d recognized him all along.  
But she couldn’t admit that. That was the same as admitting treason.

She didn’t look at the lieutenant. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, general, I really mean—“

“I don’t want to hear of it”, she interrupted him. ”It was no prince, no soldier, just a _humble_ villager. Make no mistake. I will continue arguing this.”

Realization dawned on the lieutenant’s face. “Yes, of course, General. I’m sorry for seeing things. A humble villager, of course.”

Minerva smiled slightly. “Good work today, lieutenant. What is your name?”

The young soldier stared at her for a moment. “Rivan Silrik”, he stuttered. “Uh— Thank you, General.”

The body of one of the deserters hit a bump in the road, and Titania who was the one dragging it snarled irritably. Minerva cast a quick glance at the body, making sure it was still attached. And once again, she felt a void spread in her mind.

The deserters probably felt like they didn’t have a choice. There was no pride in the Macedonan army anymore, only fear. So she had to ask.

“Rivan. Why did you join the military?”

Rivan seemed surprised by the question, even Palla looked questionably at Minerva. They both knew the answer was ' _well I didn’t exactly prefer being beheaded_ ', but Minerva wanted to believe that someone so young and good-natured had something else guiding him.

“Um”, the young lieutenant said, peeking at her with slight suspicion. “Well, General, my older brother was always going on about the great and honorable deed of serving our land. He got up to junior knighthood, but then he disappeared. I figured I’d fulfill his dream of serving with honor, and perhaps even finding him. It was so strange of him to disappear, I thought I’d run into him at some point. Hopefully.”

A sheet of ice began to creep over the void in Minerva’s mind, sending numbing shivers down her arms.

“Perhaps I can help. Name your brother.”

Rivan lit up. “Oh, General, that’s— Um, his name is Tiran Silrik.”

Minerva felt as if a lightning strike cracked the surface of her icy void.

She stared right in front of her, seeing nothing.

_Tiran._

_Kill those junior knights for me, will you?_ Michalis' voice hissed in her mind.  _I can't trust them to keep their mouths shut._

“I have no one with that name in my army”, Minerva answered mechanically. “I’m sorry.”

Minerva glanced at Palla and Catria beside her, hoping she’d just heard incorrectly – but the paleness of their faces said everything she’d feared. Catria covered her eyes with her hand, turned her face away.

Minerva focused on the path in front of her, forced the image of Michalis from her mind. She didn’t have enough energy to curse at anything, anymore.


	19. New Resistance

She was lying on her back. The familiar smell of her old tent was in the air, crickets chirping in the night outside.

Her small force had caught up with General Merach the day before. Merach had done well, the Aurelian capital was close to falling. All they needed to topple the kingdom was one final push. Yet Minerva felt like she’d achieved nothing.

“They’re going to start to smell”, Palla said from beside her.

“I don’t particularly care”, Minerva answered.

“They’ll bring disease. Please, just bury them. Or dump them on the side of the road. I think the soldiers got your point by now.”

 

The deserter’s bodies had been hung in the closest trees at the edge of their camp as soon as Minerva had arrived. She had immediately noticed how the soldiers took detours to avoid walking past them, and that they stayed inside their tents more than usual. Minerva’s tent was stationed the closest, and while she couldn’t see the hanging bodies through her walls, the occasional scavenger’s caw overpowered even the sound from the Aurelian Great River.

 

“It’s not about making a statement anymore”, Minerva muttered. “I just want their ghosts to suffer.”

“Damn it, Minerva.” Palla crossed her arms over her chest. “We’ve been over this. You’re not even angry at them anymore. I know you’re only angry at yourself.”

“Yes, I _am_.”

“You did what you could to prevent it.”

“I know.”

“And we established that it wasn’t your fault.”

“I _know_. But I still feel so helpless, I grow tired of my own company.”

Palla turned her head to the side, looking at Minerva with a slight frown. “And I grow tired from the company of deserter corpses.”

Minerva forced herself up on her elbows, not meeting her gaze. “They betrayed the _Second Coming of Iote_. Michalis has clear laws that traitors are granted no mercy. What do you want me to do, give them honorary speeches and wish them safe travels to the afterlife?”

“No”, Palla sighed. “You’ve done right to punish them. But I’d rather have you stop enjoying it, and know when enough is enough.”

“I can’t afford to _enjoy_ things.”

“You know what I meant. I don’t like arguing with you.”

Minerva closed her eyes and lay back down. “I don’t like it either.”

They lay quietly for a while.

“You don’t have to stay”, Minerva muttered finally, glancing sideways without moving her head. “I cannot imagine myself as a pleasant presence.”

Palla smiled slightly at that and poked her in the rib. “Much better than the Macedonan soldiers, I assure you. They tend to throw jealous looks when I’m around.”

“They are right to envy you”, Minerva answered. She’d have liked to display a teasing manner in return, but her voice was as always half stuck in toneless nothing. “You probably beat some of them to this royal life-guard-job, years ago.”

Palla chuckled softly. “Perhaps. Oh, what a time that was. I’ll never forget how many of us knights there were, all desperately pushing at each other in the line to sign our name on your master’s list of tryouts.” She chuckled again, and her clothes rustled as she put her arms behind her head. “I was so nervous... I thought I’d faint when I saw you waiting for me on the training grounds. I couldn’t possibly have imagined that you'd choose me, but your master Pilas returned to _our_ barracks, and he called out _my_ name... I think that is the happiest memory I own.”

Minerva brushed a finger between her own clavicles, as if trying to catch the tiny stirring of warmth in her heart. Keep it there.

“I have never regretted that choice”, Minerva smiled weakly. “I think I was happy that day too. I must have been. But it’s as if a fog shrouds every memory from the time _before_ , and I’m left with a tangle of nothing.”

“Poetic words, dear friend.” Minerva heard the half smile in Palla’s voice. “Put some energy into developing that, instead of hanging corpses to rot.”

Minerva exhaled in a half-hearted scoff and turned her eyes on the tent wall. “Some general I’d be.”

Palla’s fingers enclosed hers in response.

“Minerva... Joking aside, I know what you mean. But we have to stay brave for only a little while longer, now.”

Minerva arched her own fingers over Pallas, her muscles responding without any thought. Palla’s hand so well known, a home, a shield.

Minerva breathed in deeply and closed her eyes as hard as she could, but the heaviness inside her still remained as strong as before, taking the shape of unnerving cries from a five-year-old child, blood on her hands, blood over her eyes—

She hoisted herself up into sitting, still with one hand in Palla’s.

“Going somewhere?”

Minerva cast an eye on Palla, then on the entrance to the tent. “The river”, she answered.

Palla sat up as well, her head tilted to the side. Her hand had started to get clammy, but neither of them let go. Their fingers still clung to the shelter of the other.

“It’s a bit of an odd time for a walk”, Palla said, her thin eyebrows drawn together into a slight frown.

Minerva shook her head, squeezed her hand again. “It’s not that. You were right, I have enough grudges. Let’s dispose of those deserters, and forget they ever existed at all.”

\---

Aurelis castle fell within an hour of battle.

The only guard that remained was a few hundred soldiers defending the castle, but they broke so easily, Minerva wasn’t sure what she had expected as she kicked through the throne room’s doors. An empty throne? A puppet? A trap?

Neither, it turned out. The king of Aurelis waited for her in his throne, his face pale, but his chin held high.  
He was unarmed, so Minerva ignored him. She hadn’t forgotten the perhaps most important of her duties - making sure Nyna, the surviving Archanean princess, was officially erased from life and history. That princess had nowhere to hide, now.

Minerva cast a quick glance around the room, but the king was alone.

She ordered a search of the entire castle, and stayed in the throne room, waiting. The King put up an impressive speech on how they could kill him, but Aurelis would never truly die. Minerva half-listened for a time, before she finally tired and had him thrown in his own dungeon.

She considered pushing any information he had out of him by asking ‘ _how fares your wife, your majesty?_ ’

Michalis would have done it.

_A soldier never hesitates._

Nausea pushed at her throat. No, there were other ways for now. Leverage would be her last resort.

 

Princess Nyna wasn’t found, and neither was the king’s brother, prince Hardin. Minerva organized another search, this time of the entire city, and had Merach speak to the king in the dungeons. To keep busy while she waited, she and Catria hoisted the Aurelian throne out from the castle balcony.

Doluna always enjoyed symbols of their power, and what better way than having splinters of a king’s chair rain all over the castle courtyards? Gods, did she ever hate herself.  
Minerva stayed to stare at the shattered throne perhaps a bit too long, since Catria patted her on the shoulder.

“C’mon Commander”, she said quietly to her, “there’s still work to do.”

 

Merach had trouble with the king, apparently, so Minerva walked down to the dungeons herself.

She looked at him through the bars, her face and eyes not moving.

The king held her gaze, but fidgeted with his hands. “What will you do to me, demon?”

“Torture”, Minerva answered indifferently.

Truthfully, interrogation was not her strong suit. She hoped she’d be able to avoid causing the king pain, prayed that he’d give in out of fear. The king shrunk a little, but he kept his gaze on her.

“And that is my unavoidable fate, then? Torment by the hands of foreigners and defilers?” He was at least trying to be brave.

“If you continue to bore me, certainly. I'll give you a chance, though. Where’s Nyna?”

The king’s shoulders slumped.

“She left our castle weeks ago.”

He yielded. Thank the Divines.

“If you do not know of this, then she managed to elude you. She’s with my brother, then.”

 _Prince Hardin_. Minerva had hoped that particular prince wouldn’t become a bother, but now she had to suffer for her mercy.  
_I should have killed all those strangers_ , she cursed at herself as she exited the dungeon. _Never leave loose ends_.

 

The following day she heard of a rebellion, up by the northern fortresses. This was where the prince Hardin and princess Nyna cowered, the King had told her. But they didn't exactly hide quietly; they led the remaining Aurelian forces against Minerva’s troops, and over the course of a week they remained a thorn in her side. They just wouldn't die. Minerva's Dragoons had met resistance before, surely, but never _struggled_.

“I’ll go there myself to end them”, Minerva whispered under her breath to Palla, but the knight put her hand on her shoulder, pulled her back.

“Don’t rush”, Palla said. “Your place is here until the eastern Dolunan forces arrive. You cannot leave the castle unguarded.”

“I could leave Merach in charge—“

“You don’t think that’s such a good idea yourself. I can tell.”

Minerva paced the throne room, drummed her fingers against Hauteclere’s edge. “Fine, but I’ll reinforce the northern fortresses with a third of our capital force. I want it _assured_ that Nyna is ended.”

 _So that this war can die with her_. An end was more than Minerva dared hope for, and unlikely. After all, the island Talys to the far east was still not under Dolunan command, but as soon as that was taken care of...

 _No._ Still much too early to think about it.

\---

Over the following days, Minerva impatiently awaited news on her army’s success in taking down Prince Hardin. She stood by the window, watching the skies for their return. But they never showed – instead she spotted an unfamiliar flier dressed in Dolunan colors on the horizon. The flier trotted down onto the courtyard, and only moments later the Dolunan sky knight slammed the doors open to the throne room, where Minerva had set up her temporary residence.

“Crimson Dragoon, I bring an urgent message.”

Est and Catria had been sitting in a corner playing dice, but they joined Minerva’s side in the time it took her to blink. Palla was close, as she always was, with her hand on the hilt of her sword. None of them spoke, but Minerva jerked her chin once to grant the messenger permission to speak.

“I bear word from the Dolunan camp, a week’s ride to the east of here.”

Good, Doluna progressed fast. Soon Minerva would be reinforced, and she’d be able to leave this land, face her next objective. _More death._ _More pain._ And yet still preferable over the agony of standing around to wait for nothing.

“Do you have news from the rebellion up north?”

The sky knight frowned for a moment, before she shook her head. “My message speaks of another rebel force, General.”  
Minerva exchanged a quick look with her Whitewings.

“These rebels originate from Talys, and have so far survived any Dolunan attempt to crush them. They’ve reclaimed parts of Archanea, even General Bentheon was defeated by their hands.”

Minerva felt no joy at this. “Do you require assistance in taking them down?”

“No”, the messenger said, leaning her weight on one of the stone pillars with a quick roll of her eyes. Minerva bit her tongue to keep from commenting on her discourtesy.

“Great General Khozen does not want to leave Aurelis unguarded. He merely wants you _informed_ , General.”

 

That was not a good sign, if any. No rebel force had survived more than a few days as soon as they were exposed to Doluna’s might, much less had they ever _reclaimed_ anything. If it was enough for the Great General himself to bother with, they couldn’t be mere uprising farmers.

“Then tell me what I should be prepared for”, she demanded, trying to hide her irritation.

“The rebels appeared a few weeks ago from Talys, but their leader is of different cloth – a prince in exile, believed to have fallen with his kingdom, Altea.”

_Prince._

_Altea._

Not among the people whose faces Minerva had been shown by the Dolunan generals to learn to recognize her enemies, but she still felt like she should know of him. Her father and the Altean king Cornelius had been close allies, but she couldn’t recall ever being properly introduced to his children...  
Her thoughts felt so distant. Altea had been the first to fall, six years ago, and its name and legacy were supposed to be buried in history.

“This... prince”, Minerva finally said, her thoughts fumbling to remember the teachings of her youth, the names that were spoken during councils. “It’s... Marth, unless I’m mistaken?”

The messenger’s face darkened. “That’s their leader, yes. He’s apparently been kept hidden by the king of Talys, only to be let free now. With them comes more rebellion, civilians rise up against their overlords with chants of _hope_.”

Minerva read the tone in the messenger’s voice, and responded in kind.

“Ridiculous.”

But her thoughts spiralled.

Every child knew the stories of their kingdom’s founders, and the stories of Anri, the first Altean king.

Many millennia in the past, Doluna’s age-old king Medeus aimed to lay waste to the human’s realms. Macedon had been nothing but wyverns, Grust not more than a few barbarian villages, Altea but a rock in the ocean. Archanea and Doluna were the only kingdoms on the continent at the time, and as Medeus waged his battle against Archanea, the hero Anri arose from the ashes of war. The hero was given the Falchion, a sword blessed by light, a divine miracle able to slay the emperor Medeus.  
Falchion, a weapon kept safe by the only family who could wield it.

_The Altean royals._

Minerva had to tear free from the messenger by the pillar, pace the throne room again.

 _Hope_ , her thoughts whispered to her. _A way to end the war, a way to end the reign of a revived mad dragon._

 _Hope_. She wanted to punch a wall, see the small cloud of dust as pebbles rained down. But she shouldn’t show how this bothered her. She shouldn’t _let_ this bother her.

It changed nothing. She’d annihilate the rebellion in the north, as planned, and this new prince was a mere annoying wasp buzzing near her face. She’d crush him if he showed himself.

This wasn’t about what Minerva felt, or what she thought. Should she display the merest sympathy to this Prince Marth, Maria would be gone forever.

_Maria._

A life where Minerva breathed the constant reminder of her sister’s suffering was torture enough. The mere thought of living with the knowledge that she was dead... Far, far worse.

She was overcome by the urge to simply fly to Castle Deil and tear the castle down, stone by stone, until every last sentry was dead and Maria freed. But just like so many times before, she choked that flame of rebellion inside until it barely became a spark.

The closest guards had orders to kill Maria on the basis of even the slightest suspicious sound, and Minerva knew there was no way she could get inside before then – she and her Whitewings were outnumbered ten to one and the corridors were too slim to move in. She couldn’t be a fool.  
Everyone who claimed to be her superior may think she was one, and perhaps the bigger pictures weren’t always crystal clear in her head. But at times like this, when everything _was_ clear to her, it was all the more painful to realize her part to play in this was unchanged.

_Dragoon. Murderer. Monster._

“One last thing”, the messenger said. “The rebels were last spotted marching south of the border. Doluna thinks this may concern you, since they're in all likelihood here to take back Aurelis.”


	20. Battle of Aurelis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, Minerva will serve as Marth's opponent outside Aurelis Castle, even though that doesn’t happen in Shadow Dragon, but you know, for the sake of perspective. Also it would make sense, she’s not there in game because she’d be too tough for poor level 5-ish units.)

The sun set over Castle Aurelis, bathing the Macedonan army in the colors of their kingdom.

Titania stood perched on the capital’s highest watchtower, Minerva stoic in the saddle as she followed the movement on the plains below.

Her people were fewer than she’d liked, but she couldn’t regret her decision to dispatch such a large force to end prince Hardin’s resistance. Regret couldn’t fortify her army.  
She’d have to make do with what was, however difficult. A general was supposed to believe in her troops – but in light of recent events, how could she? Marth’s rebel force had drilled through the Macedonan defenses she’d left in the hands of lesser commanders.

Damn them. She hadn’t asked of them to perform miracles, only keep the Aurelian border safe. Considering the size of Marth’s rebellion, she couldn’t believe how it was possible for them to have bested her subjects. Were the rebels a force to be reckoned with, or had her Dragoons grown too used to the comfort of numbers? Either way, she wouldn’t let it stand. She was in charge, General Merach at the front – she’d show these rebels how a true Macedonan force fought.

The Altean prince slowly progressed toward them, his army but a spot on the horizon. Minerva hugged the handle of Hauteclere.

This would be the first time she met prince Marth face to face, and in her heart of hearts, she grieved that it had to be over a bloodied battle.

_Hope._

Such things didn’t matter now. Maria’s life was worth more than an entire continent’s worth of people.

More than the fate of the world.

Minerva slowly pulled Hauteclere free, rested its head on the stones below.

What a miserly shell she’d become.

 

The Rebel Army faced the castle head on. No scouts reported seeing anything from the flanks. Could it be that the rebels were so few they couldn’t afford it?

Palla landed beside her, and confirmed her suspicions by saying: “They’re no more than two hundred, Commander.”

Minerva acknowledged her with a nod, readied Hauteclere and had Titania cast off from the castle wall. She circled above her troops on the plains, winding her way around her flier front.

“Dragoons!” she called out to them all. “We face another battle! Show the enemy what they rightfully fear and _fight_ with me – this castle will not fall!”

The saluting chant of Crimson Dragoon merged with the sound of a thousand hands finding their hearts. Minerva raised Hauteclare high, the sun glinting through the clouds to gleam on its edges.

“ _FOR DOLUNA! FOR MACEDON’S HONOR!_ ”

General Merach spurred on at the front, and with a roar, the ground forces began to rush the rebels. The fliers sliced the air past Minerva, a swarm of deadly beasts.  
Minerva hated that she wasn’t bolting forth with them, but the castle gates were hers to protect. She descended back to the city wall, her eyes not letting go of her troops.

Her army clashed with Marth’s with high spirits, but as a roar of wind magic shot up through the air, a dozen of her fliers were immediately incapacitated. The remaining squad leaders in the sky steered to the side, but as the gusts of wind died down, the arrows followed.

Minerva’s throat burned to the sounds of wyvern’s dying cries.

What were her ground-troops _doing_? They hadn’t reached a single archer yet, all of them stuck in the middle of the enemy army. Marth’s people kept them caught in a semi-circle, bulkier units lining the center. An unbreakable wall against Minerva’s soldiers.

The prince clearly wasn’t new to fighting against the odds.

 

Minerva’s fliers finally got the chance to plunge down, but something shot through the air. A striking Pegasus took off from the enemy's rear, to intercept the sky knights' advance.

So, the rebels had a flier too. Just the one. Soon to be none, Minerva hoped – surely no one could emerge victorious facing three senior Dragoons at once. No one, except this sky knight. The rebel flier danced with her spear, much like Catria’s swift movements, but with Est’s strength and Palla’s precision. She sliced two Dragoons down, dodging the third and knocking him down, moving seamlessly to stab another that had attempted to dive on Marth.

A trickle of fear ran down Minerva’s spine, spreading frost in her heart. All she’d fought for ran out of her hands like sand before her eyes.

She’d never failed. She wasn’t supposed to, she _couldn’t_ —

_Maria._

Minerva bit the insides of her cheek, tasted blood. She was certain she was disposable to Michalis and Doluna, but would they cause _Maria_ to suffer for this?  
Her heartbeats grew louder inside her head, a throbbing pain in her ears.

She bit down harder, her cheek cracking under the pressure. Her sight started to darken around the edges, framing the figure of Marth in his bloodstained cloak. She watched him turn and call out to his troops, and when he turned his face back toward the castle, he smiled.

His expression of triumph like a punch in Minerva’s gut, spreading the smoke of cold anger inside her.

She hadn’t lost _yet_.

Without their leader, these rebels were nothing.

“ _Whitewings_!” All three sisters had stayed with her to guard the castle, and they gathered around her within a heartbeat.

“It’s a grave situation, Commander”, Palla greeted her.

“I don’t want a damage report”, Minerva said brusquely. “Henceforth, we focus on Marth, and him only. _Catria_ – you’re the quickest, dash down to distract their archers. Est and Palla – you keep their Pegasus knight busy. Marth will be left open, and I’ll have him.”

She hadn’t removed her gaze from Marth for a second. He was advancing now, getting closer to a hero’s victory.

Deep down, she had no wish to see him die, but it was him or Maria.

Him or Maria.

“ _Go_!”

Pebbles rained down from the city wall as they lunged.

Catria bolted down at the archers, a white streak in the air all that could be seen of her. One of the archers was too slow to dodge the ferocious hooves of the Pegasus and got knocked out cold. His companions answered the assault immediately, and arrows whistled past Catria’s fearless figure as she circled them. A bolt of thunder magic crackled around her, but she didn’t slow down.

Minerva sent a moment’s prayer for Catria’s safety and dashed down towards the royal blue figure on the ground.

Like Minerva had predicted, the rebels' only flier dropped what she was currently engaged in and looped toward Minerva with frightening speed. This one was a force to be reckoned with, surely – but so was Palla and Est. The eldest and youngest Whitewing left Minerva’s side to pounce onto the enemy flier, successfully interrupting her advance with the sound of clashing wings.

Minerva secured her grip on Hauteclere, and plunged straight down. The intense airspeed made even her experienced eyes tear up.

“General Minerva!” the figure on the ground cried up toward her. “This is defeat – lay down your weapons!”

She cried out wordlessly in response. Hauteclare came down upon the prince with the full force of Titania’s dive.

Had Marth wielded anything but a sword, he would have ended up swatted into the ground. But he twisted and countered. Survived.

Minerva had to quickly realign herself to avoid smashing into the plains. The ground was closer than a whisper; she could see how the straws of grass lay flat under Titania’s belly. Minerva cursed inwardly and spun around within a moment, interrupting their bolt along the ground. Titania twirled her body in a way possible for only the most skilled wyverns, and they shot upward again. Minerva immediately scanned the ground to find the prince.

Marth’s counter couldn’t have been perfect; he’d been thrown a couple of wyvern lengths away from where Minerva had attacked him. He lay huffing on the ground, his silver sword having spiralled far beyond his reach.

Minerva’s eyes narrowed. The prince crawled toward his sword, but whatever he attempted would be futile. Minerva plunged a second time, and Titania’s shadow grew above her prey.

Hauteclare at the ready – nothing could stop her now...

Something slammed into Titania’s side, throwing her off course. A spear was thrust in front of Minerva, caught in between her raised arms and body, sharp spear point nearing her heart.

She only had the fraction of a moment to react.

Staying in the saddle meant being stabbed through the throat. Nothing to it but _fall_.

 

She cast herself off Titania, and the spear-point only thudded against her breastplate.

Her mouth did not obey her will to scream, so she fell silently though the empty air.

For a few moments, she saw Titania from below. The wyvern cried out in panic, her eyes locking with Minerva’s. She shouldn’t fight such a foe without her master, and she knew it. Titania avoided the enemy flier’s second attack with the spear, and darted away.

Away from the danger.

And away from Minerva.

Minerva’s back slammed into the ground. Bones rattled.

Air.

Minerva gasped desperately, but her ribcage did not move.

_Air._

One shallow breath. Her eyes saw nothing but blue sky.

Her lungs burned, but she breathed again.

Something swished past above her, growing bigger...

She blinked. That had to be Catria. But why would Catria dive down towards her with the spear aimed for her head, with eyes burning of hatred?

 _Not Catria_ , her thoughts wheezed. _En-e-my..._

Minerva tried to sit up, but could barely move her arms enough to try to protect her face.

A loud crash resonated in the air above her, as Palla came down onto the figure similar to Catria from above, forcing her to parry and steer to the side.  
Minerva took another shallow breath, squinted toward the shape of her friend. The Whitewing was screaming, wordlessly, incoherently. Or maybe Minerva couldn’t hear because of the whooshing pulse in her ears. She forced herself into sitting upright, blinking again.

Palla was hovering above her, a human shield between Minerva on the ground and the enemy flier. Catria swept down and joined her sister, but that was not enough to keep the enemy flier at bay, she got past them somehow. Minerva’s mind still too dazed to properly understand what happened above.  
All she could register was that the young woman with the burning hatred now dived at her a second time.

Minerva finally managed to get to standing. Hauteclare was just beside her, and she lifted it. There was no way she’d go down unarmed.

 _Closer_ , her mind slurred. _Come closer and pay the price_.

A deafening roar. A black projectile circled in front of the enemy pegasi, snapping at its throat. With a mighty swing of its tail, the enemy rider was thrown off her mount and crashed to the ground further away.

The wyvern roared again, almost flipping the Pegasus over but the terrified animal barely dodged and dashed away.

“Caeda!” Marth had gotten to his feet again, but was ignoring Minerva. He stumbled toward the enemy flier, lying motionless on the ground. “ _Caeda_!!”

 _Get him_ , Minerva wanted to yell at her Whitewings, but couldn’t form words.

Palla was hovering close to Catria, who needed support to stay in her saddle. Minerva wasn’t faring any better, she needed Hauteclare as a cane to be able to stand. She turned her head and saw the entire rebel army progressing towards her position.

General Merach was being boiled alive in his armour by fire magic. His screams echoed over the plains.

She had no time for sorrow. As soon as the rebels were done with Merach, she’d be next in line.

Titania landed beside her and nuzzled her cheek, hissing in her ear.

“Good girl”, Minerva croaked and stumbled back into the saddle. An arrow burrowed into the ground beside them.

“Up, up”, Minerva ordered, and Titania obliged. She joined the two Whitewings, still light-headed and short of breath.

Catria had regained her ability to sit straight, but her face was covered in blood from a crack beneath her headband. Palla held her sword in her right hand instead of her left, on which her wrist was hanging in a limp, odd angle.

_Disaster._

_Loss._

A general needed to face defeat, or be branded a fool in whatever afterlife existed.

“Retreat!” Minerva had finally regained her voice. They went as high as they could, taking shelter in the fog of dusk. Now that most of the enemy archers and the flier was incapacitated, they’d be safe in the air for a few precious moments.

“Where’s Est?” Minerva panted toward Palla.

Palla’s eyes were dull, imitating the mask of stone Minerva met each time she saw her own reflection. “She fell. Arrows everywhere, and their demon flier, she—”

Minerva’s heart stopped for a moment. She flew closer, fixating her gaze into Palla’s. “I asked _where_.”

Palla’s face crackled for a moment. “She crashed. The woods to the west. I have to—“

“No”, Minerva cut her off. “You and Catria round up the remaining Dragoons, flag for retreat. Meet me at the Dolunan camp to the east. I’m going after Est.”

She refused to risk Palla, too.

 

Minerva spurred Titania toward the west, uncertain if she heard Palla cry after her or not, but yelled ‘ _it’s an order_ ’ out into the air behind her, for good measure.

Prince Marth was on the ground before her, kneeling by the limp body of the demonic enemy flier and surrounded by two knights. The knights both held up their lances in defence, but Minerva barely spared them a glance. Even at her best, engaging in combat against three skilled warriors backed up by archers would have been a bad idea. Maybe not impossible, but she’d gambled enough this gods-forsaken evening.

She swished past Marth and his knights, and caught sight of a spot in the western woods where the treetops looked like they had been flaked by the impact of something heavy.

“Go, Titania, go!” The twigs whipped her cheeks as they drove through the ceiling of the forest.

When she reached the ground, she was met by a small, empty glade.

“Est!” Minerva shouted.

 _I am a bloody fool_ , she cursed herself. _I put her into this mess, I thought I could be enough, I thought I could get everyone through this alive—_

She rushed off Titania. Any moment, an Altean ally could be popping their head through the trees, and while the only one Minerva had learned to be cautious of was currently incapacitated, she wasn’t keen on fighting anyone. She jogged around the small glade in an attempt to find traces of a sky knight’s belongings, when there was a movement in the brush.

She drew Hauteclare. “Who goes there?”

White, shimmering feathers reflected the rays of dusk as a creature stepped out of the brushwood.

For the fraction of a moment, Minerva was a child again, looking into the gentle eyes of her mother’s Pegasus.

“Tyra”, Minerva whispered at her, taking hold of the animal’s reins. “Oh, Tyra – I’m so sorry – Est, can you hear me? It’s Minerva!”

The young Whitewing was still in the saddle, only because of the support of the wings from Tyra. The Pegasus was dark red behind its right hind leg, where Est must have pressed her own leg before she’d lost consciousness.

Compressing a wound.

“Est, by the divines...” Minerva pulled her down from the Pegasus and into her own arms, her movements a shaky mess. She supported Est’s head with her hand, brushing the hair out of her eyes, tried to make eye contact, but was met by half-closed eyelids.

Warm liquid reached through Minerva’s armour pads, clamming against her skin.

_Gods, no._

Minerva placed her on the ground and cut a piece of Est’s linen tunic with her throwing axe. The wound reached like a chasm over Est’s inner thigh and to the other side. She bled still, and Minerva’s makeshift bandage did little to stop the pulsating trickle down into the grass. She had no time to waste.

Minerva hoisted her into her arms again and mounted Titania, with a quick glance at Tyra.

The Pegasus had more red feathers than white, arrowheads buried in its wings, one of which looked torn and fractured. There was no time to put the brave animal out of its misery, and that hurt Minerva deeper than was reasonable. Death was nothing new, especially not the death of mounts. But Tyra was a part of her mother. A lie about the possibility of happiness—

“Do you need assistance?”

Minerva had Hauteclare out again in a heartbeat.

Not far away, a young lady had appeared. She had twigs in her reddish hair and blood on her healing garb. She was out of breath, which wasn’t strange if she’d been running on foot through the brushwood.

“Move and I’ll kill you”, Minerva hissed, and Titania hissed with her.

The healer stood unafraid. The combination of proud stance and kind eyes resonated too deeply with Minerva; she couldn’t strike someone so similar to Maria down. Hauteclere stayed motionless in the air.

“My name is Lena”, the young woman said. “I am a Macedonan noble of House Astdral. We have never met, since my family never intervened in court matters before the war. But I promise you I mean no harm, your highness. Your soldier needs healing. Please, let me.”

Minerva corrected her hold on Est, trying to aim Hauteclare at the stranger at the same time. “If you’re with the rebels, you’re no kin of mine. Step aside and let me fly, or be trampled.”

“General Minerva, I left your brother’s court, but before then I gathered that your brother’s interests... may not coincide with yours. Prince Marth wants to speak to you, we know we can help—“

“I said _begone_!”

“Let me heal your soldier at least, she can’t go on for much longer—“

“ _I can’t have you touch her_! Doluna will notice she’s been healed, and I _do not have magician healers in my army_. Leave!”

Minerva didn’t wait a second longer, and Lena didn’t press further. She retreated back into the woods before Titania’s wings would crush her.

Minerva hugged Est closer, blinking away tears as Titania ascended. She hated losing, but at the same time, now, there was this... relief. Killing these rebels would have been a crime to humanity, a crime like no other.

_We know we can help._

Minerva wiped her face, mixing the blood that was on her hands with that on her face.

There was no salvation. Not for her, not ever. The web of death had spun tighter around her as the years passed, but she would never lose sight of Maria. Her sister had to live, breathe freedom again. And Est would be there to greet her – she _had_ to be.

She glanced down on Est’s face. The girl still had color, but felt colder than before. Minerva hoped it was the damp air and hard winds.

“We’re on our way, Est. Don’t worry.”

Est’s eyelids fluttered in response, and Minerva thought she saw her lips move, form a voiceless cry for help, in the form of her sister’s name.  _Palla._

If the Divines could hear her prayers once, Minerva hoped it’d be now. The Dolunan camp was in sight, but Titania was slowing down.

“I know you’re tired”, Minerva pleaded. “But go just a bit further. Fight with me.”

Titania cast an angry glance back at her, as if telling her: _You’re not the one flying, you lazy wingless creature._

Minerva answered by stroking the wyvern’s neck. There wasn’t much she could do, and she hated feeling so helpless as the life drained away from the body in her arms.  
Should she have taken the risk of letting that Lena heal her?  _If only magic wasn’t traceable._

 

The Dolunan camp was finally within reach, and Minerva descended as quickly as she was able.

Injured soldiers were everywhere around her as she landed, but one healer stopped by Minerva.

“This one has red priority”, Minerva said to the healer. She knew so little of the healing arts, but knew enough of their language from Maria’s rambles in their youthful years. It was as if her heart couldn’t let her forget even the slightest phrases that had passed Maria’s lips, knowing that each day brought the risk of never hearing any of them again.

The cleric reacted in an instant by lifting Est out of Minerva’s arms, and turned to briskly walk into the healing tents.  
Minerva’s arms were left empty and cold, and so, so heavy.

She glanced around her. She saw glimpses of the Macedonan red and gold armor, but it all blended with Grustian black and silver, Dolunan ochre and Gra’s violet and gray. She tried to locate Palla or Catria, but everything was a loud mess.

 _I did this_ , her thoughts echoed to her. _This is my fault, all of it. I lost. I failed._

Her eyes brushed past the elevated platform that the Dolunans always made sure to assemble in their largest military bases.

She’d been standing below those platforms almost every other week for the past six years. When the Macedonan forces converged with Doluna and Grust, she had to partake in the audience to Doluna’s punishments. Her, and a hundred other soldiers, amassed in silence. Watching as death or pain was delivered to those who displeased the manakete. Dolunan humans, Grustian officers, soldiers of Gra – no one was safe. Minerva had watched her own men face the manakete’s punishment, and there was nothing she could do to save them from it.

Doluna never bothered with _trials_ , and what did they care if the Macedonan First General bared her teeth and told them that she’d rather deal with her men on her terms? As long as the manakete got to hear the cries of pain and pleadings for forgiveness, they were pleased.

Minerva forced herself to look away from the platform, and down into her empty arms again. Breathing was painful. She tried feeling alongside her ribs to check if any specific place hurt more than the others. Focusing her thoughts on anything but what was to come.

“General Minerva.”

She jerked in the saddle, and turned around, met the face of a Dolunan soldier. “Great General Khozen wants to see you in his quarters.”

The Great General. A manakete she’d only ever heard mentioned, before. The great Khozen, entrusted the entire Archanean invasion by the Emperor himself. He was said to be able to trample entire towns, burn down dozens of soldiers in but a breath.

Meeting him with news of failure could be nothing but disaster.

“Acknowledged”, Minerva answered mechanically. “Take me to him.” Minerva dismounted, her legs surprisingly enough supporting her. Titania walked away with a single tired glare at Minerva, before she steered her steps toward the stables.

Minerva looked instinctively around for Palla, wishing for her reassuring smile just once more before possible death. But her wishes had never been granted before, so Minerva quashed the weakness of a frightened child inside her, and turned to follow the Dolunan soldier.


	21. Khozen

“Crimson Dragoon.”

The Great General almost cooed her name. Even in human form, the size of him put wyverns to shame; the tips of his wings dragged on the ground. He looked odd in such a human invention as a tent, even one big enough for an emperor.

“Named after the might of dragons, the human race trembled at your name. A name you undertook – and _humiliated_.”

Minerva said nothing. What did she care if she dishonoured heartless beasts? Faking shame could win her some favors with a human general, depending on their capacity for sympathy, but manakete had no favors to give. So she just nodded once, not breaking her eye contact with the beast.

Crimson red met maroon red.

“How great must the rebel toddler army be for you to be turned on your heel? Hmm. What took you so long to get here, human?”

“I went back to save a soldier.”

“Reports tell me that there were plenty of others you could have saved. Say, your surviving fliers speak of your trusted Merach. You left him to act as bait, only to save yourself? Commendable, but tell me... Why would you conveniently disappear, and return long after your ordered retreat? Taking the time for a chat with the rebels, perhaps?”

Minerva’s pulse quickened, something Khozen seemed to notice, as he smiled and leaned closer.

“I made every effort to take down their leader while they aimed for Merach”, Minerva told him, altering her story only ever so slightly; “but their general was more skilled than he let on at first. While Merach’s sacrifice was unfortunate, it was unavoidable. It would be far more regrettable to leave my Whitewing, who could be saved. I made my choice. Perhaps it’s the nature of the manakete to not understand the concept of friends.”

She knew she’d overstepped her boundaries, even before the Great General grabbed a hold of the top of her head and pulled up her eyelid with his thumb.

“Perhaps it is you that don’t understand _my ability to squash you_. What use are you to us if you aren’t feared? Macedon gave us a promise in blood, and for six years it was upheld, yet now... Now their First General stands and squeaks about _friends_. Two hundred soldiers, and the mighty Dragoon turns tail and runs.”

“I misjudged and sent out too many soldiers to hunt down princess Nyna—“

“You failed that as well. Doluna isn’t interested in excuses. We don’t give second chances.”

She fought the urge to swallow. “So be it. I fought my hardest, and failed. Do with me what you will, but leave my sister out of it.”

Minerva had always had her foot on the threshold of death. She’d fought thus far to be able to live, but this, she couldn’t fight. Not while protecting Maria.

The manakete stretched his wings. “We’ve executed officers for less”, he clicked, his eyes narrowing in delight. “And how I’d love to witness a good death – but throwing away a body living for war is a waste, regardless of the brain attached to it. You’re still worth your weight in muscle, little Dragoon. Manakete cannot be everywhere, so the more ferocious fleas, like you, fill a purpose. Ah, no. Killing you would be a strategic mistake, displeasure to the emperor.”

He paused, his claws still surrounding Minerva’s head. She tried her best to breathe normally, wait for what was to come.

“You are no longer a general of any kind”, Khozen continued. “Not of Doluna, and not of Macedon. By decree of a Great General, as soon as you step out of here, you are a soldier of no status. Macedon’s troops can’t even be called an army anymore, so we’ll take those who remain under Dolunan colors. Same goes for you, as soon as we find a fitting commander. Otherwise not much is changed – mow down our enemies, and nothing will happen to your stupid sister.”

Minerva’s pulse intensified.

_I will kill all of you given the chance._

“I will not disappoint Doluna again”, she answered him, refused to let the fury show.

The pressure increased around Minerva’s head. “Good human.”

She knew better than to hope for mercy, but she still asked.

“Is that it, then?”

Khozen’s eyes glinted. “Oh, no. You know as well as anyone that our army needs to see what awaits those who fail. Humans learn their place through pain. Five lashes, it is. Nine, if you arrive late to the platform, so please”, he smiled. “Take your time.”


	22. Steel

_One day this nightmare would be over_ , she thought to herself as she hoisted her armour over her head and let it fall in a heap beside her.

One day, she would be able to really savour the sight of Maria; happy, healthy and free. She would maintain every detail of that image, and finally feel that the misery of her sins had been worth it. Every life she’d taken unwillingly. Every hope that she had ruined.

She was no stranger to physical pain, but that didn't shake the fact was that she was still scared of it; the elevated expectance hurt the most, with nowhere to hide; and the manakete knew that. This platform and everything connected to it was all their design. It was high enough so that no one in the crowd would be left unaware of what was going on, with no railings to shield the vulnerable and unfortunate, and a wooden slope down which the punishers dragged those who could no longer stand, so that they could move the line forward effectively. The victim of the most recent procedure tumbled down the slope just as Minerva reached the top of the platform; he was a failed Grustian messenger, by the looks of it, and was too weak to cry when his body rolled onto the ground.

Minerva placed her hands on the thick wooden pole in front of her. She almost appreciated its support, appreciated how she could dig her gauntlet-free fingers into it and pin her gaze on something other than the sea of eyes staring up the platform in dead horror or venomous glee.

Chains hung down both sides of the wood, rattling in the harsh wind. If she didn't fight the chains would remain untouched; that was how Doluna wanted their show. A victim too defeated to resist made for a far more amusing display. Wind rattled the chains again, and bit at her cheeks.

She had endured thus far, and a public flogging in front of a hundred Dolunian soldiers couldn’t be much worse. But the situation was larger than her thoughts, and she still felt her heart aching in panic.

She couldn’t see the punisher. Were they manakete? Human? Did she prefer the latter? Maybe it would be better to turn around, even a little bit, just so she could know.

She pushed back, forced her head to remain upright. She wouldn't turn, she wouldn't let go and run, no matter her desperate desire to do so. The weak sounds of muttered conversation died away with the creaks of more people on the platform, a hush that spread like a disease in the crowd.

Minerva stared into the wood, until she felt like it stared back. Would Michalis hear of this? He must; he’d be the first to know of her failures. The thought dimmed her mind like a haze, and her arms weakened.  
_Keep your back straight_ , she forced through the haze, though it came with the echo of her brother’s voice. Michalis had told her to do just that back when they still sparred, back when he seemed to be just an ordinary child. He’d say it a hundred times over. _Keep your back straight! Hit me again, from the left this time! That’s good! I wasn’t even trying, but that’s good!_  

When he learned of this, would Michalis laugh at her pain? Or would the brother she once knew let his heart bleed sympathy?

 _He would laugh_ , her thoughts echoed at her.  _He would laugh, he would laugh, he would laugh, and I'd deserve it._

The cymbal marked the start of the punishment, a promise of pain that made her bones shiver. She needed to focus. She needed to think of something other than the mass of people behind her.

Maria. She would look at every detail of her next time. She tried to imagine her eyes, a softer red than her own—  
Her back bent in response to the searing pain. Nothing could have made her take that standing still. It was worse than she imagined, worse than—

 _Maria._ Red eyes, gentle. Her forelocks had grown long enough to reach her ears when she threw her head back to laugh—

 _Pain._ Her insides rumbled in protest, her chest heaved.

 _It is worth it_ , she thought. _I’m not dying, Maria lives, my Whitewings will not face this... it is worth it, it is worth it._ Repeating the phrase in her thoughts she tried to once again focus on Maria but even her mind’s eye had become blurry.

_Again._

This time as if someone had poured acid over her bare back. She’d bit her cheek hard enough to bleed, and spat on the ground.  
They waited longer with the last lashes, probably to let the pain settle enough so she could feel the last ones properly.

 _Come on then_ , she thought. _I haven’t got all day._

It was impossible to picture Maria properly, right then all she longed for was Palla’s warm hands embracing hers, giving her the courage and resolve she needed to stay on course, alive—

 _Fourth._  
_Fifth._

Her thoughts no longer made sense to her, they were a scramble of pain and primal fear. She shut her eyes as hard as she could. _No more_ , her soul seemed to cry. _No more, no more, no more_. After a few seconds, she regained control of herself and tried to breathe as normally as she could. She was allowed to rise, and she tried. Her back muscles weren’t cooperating, but supporting herself on the flogging pole was enough to turn around and meet the onlookers' eyes.

“Let this be a reminder for anyone who might slow us down”, the punisher’s voice boomed. He’d been manakete. No wonder, she doubted such a strong arm could belong to a human.

She said nothing, just waited. She knew what came next.

“Crimson Dragoon”, she heard the manakete announce, “you are hereby demoted to serve as squad commander under General Harmein.”

Minerva bowed her head to affirm the announcement. Her back screamed in protest. General Harmein entered the platform, pushing the faceless, nameless soldier who was next in line for the pole. The general smiled at her with open glee, and wider so when Minerva dipped her head at him as well.

“Crimson Princess”, he greeted her. “Take your squad of Whitewings and be ready to serve me by tomorrow morning.”

She looked back at him, eyes revealing nothing but her usual gaze of bloodstained steel. “It shall be done, sire.”


	23. Forbidden Thoughts

Titania let out a snarl when Minerva and Palla entered the camp stables. To most people, wyverns always sounded bloodthirsty and merciless, but Minerva recognized it as a worried sound. Titania’s head popped up above the wall of the box, exhaling in a snort with her eyes fixed on Minerva.

“Hey”, Minerva greeted her meekly. “I know, I know, I reek of blood and injury.”

Titania responded to the sound of her voice with a bugle of her own, a low sound from the center of her chest.  
Minerva bumbled out of Palla’s support and staggered inside the box, collapsed with her arms around Titania’s throat, and breathed in the familiar, reptilian smell. Titania sniffled her hair, letting out worried groans.

“Go back to Est, Palla”, Minerva mumbled. She didn’t turn around, because moving her neck still stung like fire. “I want to be alone.”

“I still think you should go back to the healing tent.” Palla had a worried tone of her own, although to most people, her voice would sound as indifferent as ever.

Minerva stroked Titania’s back-spikes. “And do what? They only heal what they need to have my body working, and they’re done with that. I’d rather be here than go crazy from the smell of disease in those tents.”

“Minerva... I don’t like leaving you.”

“You don’t like leaving Est either. Don’t worry about me, I may not be in prime fighting condition, but no one would dare bother me here.” As if emphasizing the point, Titania curled around Minerva like a mother wyvern around her hatchlings, clicking protectively.

“That’s not what I meant, exactly.” Minerva could see the sorrow in Palla’s eyes in front of her, without looking. It was all in the sound of her voice. “They said Est might wake up from her feverish state soon. Wouldn’t you like to be there?”

“I’d just be restless”, Minerva mumbled into Titania’s scales. “No, you three sit together as siblings. You deserve to do that without thinking of my safety, for once. Break the news to Est, and come get me when you think she’s well enough to talk to me.”

Palla stayed unmoving for a couple of seconds. Minerva was certain that she would protest. But she didn’t say anything else, and her steps faded away as she exited the stables.

Strange, how the relief of not having to argue could be so cold. The void returned to creep around the edges of Minerva’s mind, and Titania’s humming breaths was the only thing keeping it at bay.

\---

Minerva had slept soundly to the soothing hammering of Titania’s heartbeat, but when the doors to the stables were slammed open, she quickly returned to consciousness.

The walls to the stables were made up of planks, finger-lengths apart. And trough the gaps, no light shined in. She must have slept for hours.  
“Minerva”, she heard from behind her. “Est is awake.”

_Palla._

The thought of moving wasn’t a happy one, and yet, knowing Palla would be there when she turned around made it easier.  
Minerva stood groggily, but was almost knocked over by Titania, as the wyvern tried to block her path with her head. Her eyes gleamed, speaking without any sound.

“I’m not gonna get myself in any other messes, I promise”, Minerva muttered and patted the wyvern’s head sleepily. Titania caught on to the calming tone in her voice and lowered her head so Minerva could climb over her, but she still let out anxious, purring sounds.

Minerva grimaced as she felt blood trickle down her back again, making the bandages damp and slimy. The healers had mended her muscle, returning the function required to fight, and cleaned the wounds to prevent infection. But the skin lesions had been left partly open, with all the pain involved.

Palla caught her by the arms, and then put her own arm around Minerva’s back. Her movements graceful and gentle, as usual. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty awful”, Minerva answered, her voice surprisingly lighthearted. “Though better, now that you’re back. Only good things to say about Titania’s company, but it’s pretty empty without you.”

Palla leaned her cheek on Minerva’s head as they walked out of the stable together. It must always have been quite the sight to see them next to each other like that, one of the greatest and most feared in the entire world, perceived as a giant – half a head shorter than her closest knight.

“Here we go again”, Minerva chuckled. “You, supporting me, because I can’t walk on my own. Takes me back.”

Palla wasn’t joining in her laughter. “I hate them”, she whispered quietly. Minerva knew who she meant, and hearing her say it crawled like ice in her spine.

“Don’t”, Minerva whispered back, the lighthearted tone in her voice gone in a heartbeat. “We have enough on our hands.”

Palla pressed her lips together into a tight line, nodding almost unnoticeably. Minerva tried her best to pretend she hadn’t heard, and gazed over the camp as soldiers of all kinds were going about their business. She caught quite a few pleased glances from captains and lieutenants performing their evening duties. They probably revelled in the fact that she was of no competition to them anymore.

 _You go ahead and try to please the dragons_ , Minerva thought tiredly. _Be my bloody guest_.

The closer they got to the healing tents, the more people walked as Minerva did. Crooked shadows in the light of lanterns, shapes supported by their comrades, groans of pain from every corner. So many injured, and for a cause that would be no benefit for anyone in the end. Except for the manakete. But they weren’t the ones instinctively clutching for lost limbs or crying at the bedside of a friend.

How Minerva would love for them to be brought the same pain they wrought. How she’d love to be the one to stamp them out, like the pests they were.

_Forbidden thoughts._

She and Palla finally stumbled into the tent that sheltered Est, and Minerva was immediately met by a tight hug from Catria.

“Death and damnation, Commander”, Catria whispered. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“My back is— Sore too—“ Minerva gasped, and Catria immediately let go.

“Sorry, I tried not touching it.” She hurriedly pulled out a chair. “Here, Commander. Sit.”

Minerva uncomfortably slid out of Pallas arms and into the chair. The pain shot through all the way to her legs.

A hand caught hers, and she saw Est’s tired face smile up at her.

It was strange how after so much darkness, the yoke she carried became instantly lighter as she saw that face alive and healthy.

“Commander”, Est greeted, with a half-hearted salute where she placed her other hand on her chest. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Same here, potato pie.”

Est frowned and raised a finger at her. “Don’t you try. Only Palla gets to call me that. It will be that way for as long as I live and if you say it when I’m dead, I _will_ haunt you. Although, I am glad I’m _not_ dead at the moment.” She drew a content breath. “Thank you for coming for me, Commander.”

Minerva hugged Est’s fingers tighter. ”As if I’d ever leave any of you behind.”

Est grinned, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “I wish you could have seen me, though – I flew like I was born in the air, I did a real dangerous loop, almost got their flier, although she got lucky I suppose—“

Her boasting was only a good sign. If Est ever skipped the opportunity to paint her bravados in words, she had to be either too busy fighting or completely unconscious.

“Oh, you foal-minded doe.“ Catria sat down on the side of the bed, putting her hand on Est’s shoulder, stroking it thoughtfully with her thumb. “It’s _you_ who’s lucky. You should take care of yourself, more.”

“Oi, right back at you, sis”, Est said with her mischievous gaze now resting on Catria. “It’s been hours, hasn’t it? If it’s true you’ve been by my bed all this time, you’ve got to get something to eat.”

“Nu-uh”, was all Catria answered. “I’m not going anywhere. The world is mad and my wee sister was hurt. If anyone tries to take me out of here, I will kick them.”

Est rolled her eyes. “Including me? Go get your food.”

“Not a chance.”

Minerva rested her head against Palla, listened distantly as the two other sisters exchanged their squabbles. In the end, Catria still stayed.

“So”, Est then finally said, turning toward Minerva. “What’s been going on while I was here? Palla told me some... things.”

“Mmm”, Minerva began. “It had to be done. I’m glad neither you nor Catria was there.”

Catria flushed in embarrassment. “I should have been by your side. I feel like I let you down.”

“Don’t. I said I wanted you all to stay with Est, and I stand by that. Palla disobeyed, but that doesn’t mean you should, too.”

After Minerva was released and the announcement of her demotion was done with, Palla had nearly tripped over her own feet while fumbling to keep Minerva upright. It was a vague memory, Minerva mostly just remembered the immediate aftermath of the punishment as a burning pain and a wish for death to end it.

But Palla had been there. Shielding her from the outside world.

An incomplete shield, because nothing could lessen the panic that pulsated at her throat as she heard the cries from the one who was receiving his punishment after her.  
But a shield, none the less.

“It would only have hurt you to see me there”, she said to Catria. “And it would have done nothing to make it less hurtful for me. So don’t feel bad, please.”

Est’s eyes had dropped the mischievous light, bleeding sympathy instead. “I’d give you a hug too if I could, Commander.”

“I know, Est. Speaking of, how are, um, your own injuries?”

“The healers said I won’t be able to walk perfectly anymore”, Est beamed. “But I can ride just as well as before, they think, and that’s what matters!”

Why was she, a sixteen-year-old, smiling from gratitude at this news?

“Oh. That’s... fantastic.”

“I know.” Est closed her eyes and sighed happily, but as she opened them again, her smile had died away. “Hey, um, Commander... I asked Palla and Catria this, but they didn’t know – where is Tyra?”

Her Pegasus. Of course she wanted to know. The thing was, Minerva wasn’t too sure either. That Lena – would she bother with a dying Pegasus? Probably not, and even if she had, Minerva couldn’t mention that she’d spoken to one of Marth’s rebels. Not without sounding like a traitor.

“I had to leave Tyra”, she answered. “It pained me. She was still alive, but badly hurt. I don’t know what became of her, Est. I’m sorry, but your life was more important. I could tell she thought so too. She shielded you with her wings, despite her own injuries.”

A shadow fell over Est’s face, tears enclosing her eyes like glass. “Could we – couldn’t we go back and look? Tyra’s so strong, she has to be fine, right?”

“We lost the castle. It’s enemy territory again. We can’t just waltz in.”

The tears overflowed. “I can do whatever I please – I’ll fight anyone to save Tyra!”

“Est, you know you can’t—“ Palla begun, but was interrupted by a loud wail.

“ _Of course I know_! Don’t say _anything_!” Est pulled the duvet over her head, sobbing quietly. Catria and Palla exchanged a look, and Catria put her arm on the shape under the duvet. They all sat in silence until Est’s sobs died away, and she peered up from under the cover.

“So what happens next?” she hiccupped.

“Not my call”, Minerva answered. “We follow General Harmein, starting tomorrow.”

Est wrinkled her face and folded the duvet away from her face. “Who?”

“We haven’t had the displeasure to meet him before”, Minerva said. “Grustian, I think. Probably responsible for safekeeping a part of Archanea.” Minerva gestured towards her own upper lip. “He had a mustache. That’s all I remember.”

Catria snorted. “Goodness, Commander - everyone has a mustache, and those who don’t, _paint_ it on. It’s such a Dolunan trend, and I don’t like it. It wouldn’t be a problem if people around here actually had enough sense to _wash_ ‘em properly—”

“ Ohh”, Est interrupted in a sing-song voice, and dragged herself up into a sitting position, drying off her cheeks. ” _Catria_! When did you have the time to look so closely?” Few things made Est happier than gossiping about relations between people, and for now, it was enough to distract her from the thought of Tyra.

Catria flushed, her eyes wide in bewilderment. “Shut _up_. You can tell from a conversation distance – just look closely next time when you talk to one and you’ll see what I mean.”

“What’s a conversation distance to you?” Est sang and leaned forward. “Come on, Catria – I have kissed boys, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. What was he like?”

“I haven’t bloody _kissed_ anyone, all right?”

Palla twisted uncomfortably. Minerva, on the other hand, was glad to listen to something close to a normal conversation for once. She missed every sibling squabble she’d ever had with Maria, because in the end, they just laughed at themselves. At the world, for being such a wondrous and odd place, full of things to laugh at.

She longed so much for those carefree days. She longed so much it hurt.

_Maria..._

She stared out into nothingness, could no longer hear whatever conversation may happen around her as she sunk down into her own thoughts.

She’d always been able to have some sense of control as a general. The thought of being without it frightened her, but at the same time, small mistakes were less noticeable coming from a regular soldier – perhaps by losing status, she gained power in other ways.

Catria was still flushing angrily when she crossed her arms and pulled Minerva from her thoughts with an angry glare.

“Well _anyway_ ”, she muttered. “On the subject of boys I have _definitely not kissed_ – general Harmein better be a decent enough fellow, or so help me. I think we’ve endured enough terribleness for a lifetime. Let’s go out there and do our jobs, and so we can at least stop things from getting _worse_.”

No one spoke, but Palla placed her hand on Minerva’s shoulder. Minerva brushed her own fingers against it, closed her eyes.

_Catria... I hope you’re right._


	24. Nightmares

_She awoke on a pedestal._

_The sky was blue._

_She wasn’t sure she had any hands. It frightened her for a moment, but then she forgot about it as she sat up to look around._

_She had slept, curled up under the slack body of a wyvern placed atop the pedestal. The body was sprawling, like the way the deer had lain when she struck them down..._ _A long time ago. She hadn't hunted a deer since she was a child._

_“Hello, daughter.”_

_Her father came around the corner of the pedestal, dressed in his full hunter’s garb._

_She took his warm hand in hers. It felt safe. Then she remembered that she didn’t have any hands, and got frightened again._  
_Her father’s figure faded, showed her what else there was to see._

_There was another pedestal. Her father bent over it, for a moment shielding the body that lay on it. He let her pass, and she too leaned over the pedestal._

_Her heart roared in its emptiness, her spine crumbling._

_“Minerva.”_

_She spoke the name, but nothing moved._

_The body was dotted with small stains, jaw hanging slackly, eyes unseeing._

_“Daughter, don’t worry”, her father said. “It’s only the blood that makes her dead. I’ll remove it.”_

_Her father swatted one of the stains, and it split into four small droplets._

_The droplets landed somewhere else on her body, and her father swatted another stain._

_It split._

_Four new stains found their place._

_He swatted again._

_It spread._

_“Father, stop”, she pleaded. “It’s getting worse.”_

_He continued swatting the stains, a short whip in his hand. Blood was soon covering the entire body._

_Palla grabbed hold of her father’s arms and stared him down. His eyes were full with sorrow when he stared back._

_“You can’t stop me, daughter”, he said. “You don’t have hands.”_


	25. Embers and Fire

Sleeping wasn’t really an option for Minerva.

Every possible way of lying down hurt. She’d slept almost a full six hours with Titania, and didn’t feel like she needed anymore. Despite being exhausted. She’d found a somewhat comfortable position, neck bent under several folds of deerhide, lying on the side without having any wound touch the hardness of the bed. It worked for the time being, but it would start to ache again.

Palla’s sleeping face twitched, and Minerva watched her from under half-closed eyelids. Palla’s body was almost always still when she dreamed, but her face always moved in fascinating ways, and sometimes, she'd speak.

“Uhh”, Palla murmured as her face took on a mask of pain.

Minerva moved as to clasp her hand, which usually helped them both when the night’s terrors became overwhelming, but the pain shot through her entire body and halted her movements.

“Minerva.”

It was just a moan, followed by something incomprehensible Minerva imagined as a sob.

“I’m here”, she whispered back, and put her hand in Palla’s despite the pain.

Palla’s eyelids fluttered, her forehead forming folds before she awoke. She looked at Minerva in disbelief, and then glanced down on her free hand in equal confusion.

“Good evening”, Minerva half smiled. “Bad dreams?”

Palla’s eyes shimmered when she looked at Minerva again. “Sorry, did I... wake you?”

“I haven’t slept.”

Palla’s tears overflowed and wet the hide beneath her face. She tried to hold back, but her entire face trembled as she did.

Minerva wasn’t so sure what to do. It was usually she who woke up like that in the middle of the night, seeking Palla’s comfort.

“Are you, um, well?” she asked.

“I am”, Palla stammered and dried her tears. “I’m just so relieved.”

“For what?”

“That you’re... _alive_.”

She hugged Minerva’s fingers, watched the detail of their fingers closely. “I’ve never been this close to losing you”, she whispered. “And Est, I...”

She pulled their intertwined fingers up to her face, as if wanting to hide behind them.

“I didn’t know what to do... You were both grounded. All I could think of was to stay and fight their demon, but I couldn’t do that either. I got distracted and put you in even more danger. The demon, she... She got a hit on Catria as well, and I just... Panicked. I’ve never done that.”

Minerva was still at a loss of what to do, so she just put her other hand around Palla’s, completely enclosing it.

“And then... Minerva, you... you pay in pain for my mistakes.”

Her voice was so small. The cold, perfect knight was nowhere to be seen.

“I was the commander”, Minerva said. “Every mistake on the field is my yoke to carry. Not yours. Had they put you up there in my stead – I can’t think of it.”  
Palla let go and sat up, her hair on end. “Imagine my feelings, then.”

“Well, I told you not to be there—“

“I don’t _care_ what you told me”, Palla fumed and pointed at her, still with tears flowing. “Command me all you want on the field, but out here I do what I bloody well please!”

“I think that’s what they call mutiny”, Minerva half-joked.

“I don’t care”, Palla said and hid her face in her hands. “I can’t care. Caring hurts.”

Minerva sat up as well, quietly enduring the pain from moving, and lay her arm around Palla.

“I know it does.”

Palla rested her head on Minerva’s chest, and they lay back down. “Sorry for keeping you up like this”, she whispered.

“Nah, I can’t sleep anyway.”

Palla turned her head so she could meet her eyes. “Does it still hurt?”

“Never stops.”

“Can I do something to ease it?”

“You’ve always been good at telling me how our suffering will not last forever. That always helps, a little.”

Tears formed again in Palla’s eyes, like waves washing over dark green seaweed. “No... This time, I’d rather not lie.”

Her tears dampened the still bloodstained collar on Minerva’s tunic, and the knight moved closer to her face, looked her right in the eye before she leaned into her ear. She whispered so silently as she voiced the forbidden.

“I want them to burn.”

Such dangerous words were only allowed in their own thoughts, perhaps not even then. But it had always been there. Six years had done nothing to quench the ember of rebellion. If anything, it grew stronger for each day.

With the new rebel army and Minerva’s quick fall from power, obedience wasn’t safe. Not any longer. One could only tread water for so long, before one drowned.

For Maria’s freedom, and for her to be able to listen to her heart again, she needed to take risks.

The world was moving, and she had to move along with it.

So she leaned close as well, their cheeks touching, and whispered back.

“One day, I swear they will.”


	26. Lefcandith Valley

The quickest and safest passage from Aurelis into Archanea was Lefcandith valley. Minerva had led her Dragoons through it mere weeks ago, and back then, she’d paid it no mind. The only thing she’d had in sight was the finish line; Aurelis castle.

How simple.

Now, she was familiar with every pebble on the ground. Even the clouds in the sky seemed to be the same for each day passing. Time went by so slowly when she wasn’t surrounded by a First General’s duties.

 

Almost a full week had passed since she and her Whitewings had arrived in the valley, and while Minerva finally felt at home in her armor again, the air around her new superior prickled at her skin like nails.

General Harmein was in charge of defending the valley, a task he’d been given by Khozen only recently. The Great General couldn’t possibly have had any better options, since Minerva was certain a child-cadet could undertake the assignment with better care.

Meanwhile, Marth’s army only grew. Since the reclaiming of Aurelis Castle, the rebels had donned a new name, a name that had spread among the civilians of Aurelis.  
The _Archanean League_ , they whispered.

Such a name did not spring out of nowhere. The rebels must have converged with princess Nyna and Prince Hardin.  
Nyna, the princess that refused to die. Frustrating as it was for Minerva to be reminded of the extent of her failures, at least Marth didn’t make his goal a secret.  
_Archanean League_. They might as well name themselves _Holy Family’s Vengeance Warriors_.

Thus, Minerva wasn’t surprised when general Harmein’s scouts returned with the report that the rebel prince and his army had their course set for the valley. They aimed to cross it into Archanea.

General Harmein had immediately called for a war council with all his commanders, a procedure Minerva had hoped to be able to avoid, but Harmein’s legion was too small for her to slip away unnoticed.

“Bloody fanatics”, general Harmein grumbled. He crumpled the map that lay before him and threw it aside, almost sending it flying into the face of the captain that stood closest to him. “The rebels will not set foot on Archanean soil – this valley is _mine_! As soon as the scum arrive, we force them to break formation. They’ll want to progress slowly, but we’ll never give them the chance! I’ll have them regret their insolent confidence... All fliers will be at the rear and press them toward our main cavalry.”

Had Minerva not known him well enough, she would have objected. The general had no clue of the rebel army’s adaptive capabilities, and someone with more of a brain might have thought far enough to ask Minerva about her previous experiences with Marth’s tactics. But General Harmein took no advice from anyone, least of all someone with such a publically pronounced failure as hers.

The other squad commanders and captains nodded their approval. Perhaps Minerva stood a bit too still, the general’s eyes landed on her, and narrowed.

“Do you have any objections, Crimson Rat?”

He came up with new nicknames for her every day. An odd pastime, but she had no need to ponder his personality flaws. Though now, keeping her head down was impossible. She might as well speak her mind.

“I have my pride as a Macedonan”, she answered him indifferently. “I’d pray for you to let me sweep down upon the rebels and end them, once and for all.”

The general narrowed his eyes even more. “Ah, yes, the same Macedonan pride that caused your defeat at Castle Aurelis! What a perfectly idiotic idea!” He laughed, and walked past his table to stand directly in front of her. The squad commanders closest to her twisted uncomfortably and tried to slide away without being noticed.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you _really_ want”, the general sneered. “You want the chance to climb back up in rank, hog the glory of the kill for yourself!” Harmein placed his hand over his sword’s hilt and leaned close. She could smell his breath, and fought the urge to turn her face away. “I am no fool, _little dragoon_. The prince is mine. You stay in the insignificant rear, or your sister will not be... _comfortable_ for long.”

She said nothing. She wasn’t sure if striking down a superior officer in self-defense counted as enough treason to harm Maria. Provoking him wasn’t such a good idea if she wanted to stay out of that dilemma.

“So tell me, Crimson Worm – where is your place?”

Minerva felt the pulse in her throat.

“In the insignificant rear, sire.”

Harmein smiled wide, thick mustache tickling his front teeth. “So I said.”

\---

The rebels arrived a day earlier than expected. Not that much of a problem, since all battle preparations had already been done in advance. Thus Harmein’s troops were ready in almost an instant.

The cavalry extended all the way around the fortress at the end of the valley, and the fliers perched themselves along the mountain walls.

Minerva hovered around one of the steeper precipices. The treetops were small and insignificant on the ground, the people that could be spotted beneath, even more so.  
Marth was at the front, of course. His royal blue figure shone brightly among the green late summer leaves. Beside him, the flashes of a sparkling white Pegasus. The demon flier in the saddle – alive and well.

Minerva let out her breath in a scoff, and steered Titania down to the steep ground, where her Whitewings lay in wait. Dozens upon dozens of former Dragoons were around them, but except for the occasional confused look in Minerva’s direction, they did their best to ignore their former First General.

Minerva cast another glance over her shoulder. The rebels had advanced further into the valley, dots of people through the leaves, soon out on the open road. Soldiers walked side by side with civilians who had picked up their spears, woodcutters and sailors with their axes, mercenaries with their brandless armor – such a strange mix of people, unified under the same flag.

“What’s the plan, Commander?”

Minerva turned to Palla, met a pair of eyes that were just as indifferent as her own. But there was a fire hiding there, too.

 _Doluna will burn._ The promise Minerva had given Palla echoed hollow, now. Her hands may tremble from the suffocation of obedience, her back may break under the pressure, her eyes may burn at the sight of general Harmein – but she couldn’t turn on Doluna. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

“Do not engage”, Minerva said. “General Harmein was clear enough on that front. Close off their rear, but do not attack them.”  
Catria lifted her chin, looked out over the valley and the progressing army. “In _theory_ though, Commander... Wouldn’t it be such a shame if my spear just so happened to find its way through their flying demon’s face?”

“Catria.” Palla’s voice was stone cold. “This is not a time for jokes.”

Catria rolled her eyes at her. “With you, it never is.”

“Oh, come now”, Est chirped at her sisters. “You two are angrier at their demon than I am. Honestly, just let her be. We can do this, let’s just look reaaally menacing, and the rebels won’t even dare turn back! And then we won’t even _have_ to fight them, right, Commander?”

“Right”, Minerva said. “If they attack us, then fight back, otherwise... Just...” She tried her best to smile, and winked at Est. “Just look _menacing_.”  
Est let out a bright laugh, and even Palla let a smile dance on her lips for a moment.

“All soldiers, in attention!” A squad commander Minerva didn’t know had spoken. “We take flight, now, for the glory of our king!”  
All the Dragoons around them began to move. Minerva threw a look down the valley to confirm that it was indeed time for their action.  
Every last rebel had left the safety of the trees. She had to hand it to the squad commander who had spoken – it was the perfect opening. Minerva gave a short signal, and she and the Whitewings joined their fellow sky knights as they pierced the sky like a flock of birds, moving as one unit. The Dragoons came down behind the rebels, and closed off their chance of turning back. Together, they swarmed like a wall, spurred the rebels forward.

But aside from a few pointing fingers and five lazy arrows sent the Dragoons’ way, the Archanean League advanced without looking back.

Of course the rebels wouldn’t mind being pushed a little. They had endured far worse than this.

If Minerva had been in command, she’d have the rebels flanked when the valley was at its thinnest. Even their demon flier couldn’t maneuver through such a devastating blow. Minerva’s forces would drive down on them like crashing boulders, and there’d be nowhere for them to run between the steep mountain walls. That way, even if the arrows rained and the wind magic tore at them, the fliers would still cause injury and death when they fell.  
Any high commander from Macedon would have figured that out, but their Grustian general only knew how to use his horses, if that. Minerva spared a look toward where general Harmein waited with his cavalry, at the fortress.

She couldn’t see if he looked pleased with himself or not, but she could guess that he did.  _The fool._

Minerva glided closer to Palla, in an attempt to focus on something other than the twitching annoyance of being reduced to a shepherd.  
She wasn’t alone in her frustration. She caught sight of more than a few of her former troops, jumping restlessly in their saddles and spinning their weapons in their hands.  
And, when the rebels had gotten halfway through the valley, one of the Dragoon squad leaders let out a shout and signalled for a charge. They all moved, a hive-mind collectively deciding that they’d had enough of being useless.

Minerva wanted to shout at them to stop. Sweep up in front of them and signal for a flank assault instead. Lead them away from certain death. Like a general would. But she did not move, only watched them go.

As the Dragoons engaged the rebels, their mage turned around. Minerva had witnessed his wind-magic before, and seeing it again made her feel sick.  
It cut through the wings of both wyvern and Pegasus, threw their masters out of the saddle, sent both plummeting to their doom.  
Minerva’s heart ached at the sight.

People of Macedon, proud soldiers of the sky. A meaningless battle had ended their days, on the cold, unfamiliar ground so far away from home.  
Minerva hadn’t returned to her kingdom, not even once – chances were that these soldiers never had, either.

This hateful war. It killed Macedon as much as it killed its people.

As the cries from fallen sky knights died down, the sky around the Archanean League’s rear was empty. Only Minerva and her Whitewings remained, now.  
Palla stared straight ahead, Catria had her eyes closed, and Est hugged the reins of her new Pegasus tightly.

“Commander”, Palla shouted at her. “What do we do?”

Marth had soon crossed the entire valley, and general Harmein’s cavalry had hit him head-on. The rebel’s flying demon plucked them down with her spear, one by one, a lone dancer on a stage. Minerva gritted her teeth.

“We do not engage”, she shouted back to Palla.

“But”, Est shouted back, “what will happen if we lose, _again_?”

Minerva throat burned. She kept her gaze steady on the Archanean League. “Do. Not. Engage.”

Truth was, Minerva had no answer. This loss – for they were most certainly losing – was not her fault, and she couldn’t prevent it. Not anymore.

 _But what does Doluna care about that?_ Her eyes narrowed. Doluna had taught her a lesson in cruelty and pain, but she might not have learned what they’d wanted.  
She’d been the perfect pawn, and that hadn’t been enough. Nothing would ever be. So why throw the lives of her friends away, in the hope of pleasing them?

General Harmein was the only one left on the field now, his voice enough to carry over the sound of viscous steel and roaring winds.

“I think he’s yelling orders at us to fight”, Palla called out to Minerva.

“I’ve been awful hard of hearing lately”, was Minerva’s response, watching Harmein’s armor be penetrated by Marth’s rapier.

The general’s cries died away, and Minerva closed her eyes. Listened to the cheer that erupted from the Archanean League.

 _Maria..._ She wouldn’t be harmed. Minerva would make sure of it – Doluna would be just as pleased to have Minerva as a scapegoat for another of their losses. And she’d shoulder that punishment, too. Her stomach lurched.  _Death is better_ , a small thought inside her rang. _Plunge down at the rebels, get yourself killed, it’s better for you, it’s better for Maria—_

She pushed it aside, opened her eyes. And for a moment she locked gazes with Lena, the healer from the woods.  
How proudly she held her mending staff. She stood in the middle of a battlefield, but somehow, she still spread an air of calm around.

_We can help you._

Minerva hadn’t forgotten her words. Maybe, Lena was right.

Though probably not.

_Irrelevant._

This battle was over, in any case.

Minerva turned Titania around.

“Disengage”, she shouted to her Whitewings. “We return to the closest Dolunan camp. Our final stand will _not_ be meaningless death.”

Pain seared over her back, as if her body wanted to tell her otherwise. But she managed to sound convinced.

All four of them took to higher air, and as they circled a mountain peak, the Archanean League disappeared from their sight, although Minerva could still hear their cheers.


	27. A Bell of Emptiness

The closest Dolunan base was to the northeast.

The soldiers within it were gathering their supplies for the evening meal as Minerva’s squad tumbled down onto the ground, their mounts exhausted from the long flight.  
Minerva’s eyes stung from the many campfires. She blinked furiously and slid off Titania as soon as she was able, but she kept a hand on her throat. Focused on the pulsating warmth beneath, instead of the soldiers who had stopped in their duties to stare at the newcomers.

A voice cut through the eerie silence that had arisen. “What is the meaning of this?”  
The entire camp stood frozen; their general was the only thing that moved. He barged through his soldiers, pushed them aside to reach Minerva and the Whitewings.

“What is the _meaning_ of this?” the general repeated, and stopped at the sight of Minerva. “You’re... Where’s general Harmein?”

His tone held a palpable threat. Minerva clutched her hand into a fist against Titania’s skin.

“Our general Harmein is no more”, she answered, keeping her own tone level. That of an obedient soldier. “He fell to the rebel prince when we lost Lefcandith Valley. My squad were the only ones able to escape.”

The general was close now. He grabbed a hold of Minerva’s pauldron and gave her a hard shake. “You _cowards_... coming to _my_ camp...”  
Minerva didn’t move a muscle. This general was human. She had no reason to fear him. Not the way she should fear the manakete. But the hatred inside her was the same.

She glanced to the side; saw that Palla had her hand on her sword hilt. Minerva cocked her head, a short sign.  _Don’t._

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, soldier!”

Minerva let her eyes land on him again. On the perfect place to break his nose. _How easy that would be._

“I know who you are, dragoon”, he hissed. “Sounds _awfully convenient_ for you to slip away from the rebels _again_.”

“Just following Harmein’s orders, sire.”

The general scoffed, and began to pull her away. “ _Right_ you are. You’re coming with me.”

So, it begun. She could handle this. It would be over quickly. She still didn’t let anything show on her face, but she cast a quick glance over her shoulder, locked eyes with the Whitewing sisters.

 _I’ll be fine_ , she wanted to say to them. _You’ll be fine_.

But her lips wouldn’t move.

Palla sat with clutched fists, didn’t blink as she stared back at Minerva. She mouthed something at her. But what? It was Minerva that finally looked away. A bell of emptiness tolled inside her as she did. Cold, disharmonic sounds.

As soon as Minerva had been pulled all the way to the general’s tent, he let go.

“Things look _very_ dark for you”, he fumed.

Minerva said nothing, only adjusted her pauldron to its right position.

“The rebel army topples any force we throw at them”, the general continued. “They kill our generals and steal our weapons – but _you_ they let live, not once, but _twice_.”

She fought the urge to scoff. It wasn’t _her_ fault Marth was too soft to put down every Dolunan in his way. It wasn’t _her_ fault Harmein had the strategic aptitude of a worm.

“General Harmein did not trust me to fight”, she explained. “He ordered me to stay out of it and only force the rebels forward.”

“And when you saw Harmein fail, why didn’t you bloody do something about it?”

“Well, I did.” Lying had become second nature to her at this point, living right inside one for so long. “I fought, but I’m just a common soldier, sire. I can only do so much. I wouldn’t dream of disobeying Doluna, but what Harmein ordered was my priority. Bringing the message of the rebels march was far more appropriate than throwing me onto their lances. The Great General Khozen did mention something about not wasting me, and that would be quite the waste. Wouldn’t want to disobey Khozen, sire.”  
The general seemed to only half-listen, before he grabbed a sheathed sword on his desk and swung it at her head.

A good Dolunan soldier took a beating from their general without complaint. A good Dolunan soldier bent their head. A good Dolunan soldier arrived at the punishment pole right on time—

Her arm moved immediately. The sheathed sword stopped dead in its path, against Minerva’s gauntlet.

The general lowered the sword. His eyes revealed disbelief, before cold anger took its place.

“Is this really how you want to play things, _soldier_?”

What she wanted, and what she _could_ , two so very different things.

Her hand slowly fell to the side. Her heart hammered, but the second time he moved, she didn’t block him. The impact from the leather-covered metal caused her head to ring and lights to dance in front of her eyes, but she only staggered once before she looked back at the general. Her mask of stone worked as good as ever, even with blood trickling down her forehead.

“Go on then, sire”, she said, her voice unchanged. “But if you wish to know the truth, know this; the reason _I_ survive the rebels is that I have enough sense to retreat. Many more could have lived through the battle at Lefcandith under my command.”

The general exhaled sharply, and threw the sword aside. “You’re not bloody human”, he said. “Doluna should have realized from the start... Pain teaches you nothing.”

Her mask broke. She couldn’t help one of her eyebrows from twitching at his words.

“You stay here.” The general shoved her aside, exited the tent within a moment.

Minerva pressed a hand against the swelling on her temple, but stood otherwise motionless. Listened to the steady ticking of her pulse. She’d been certain this general would give her the same sentence as Khozen – retreat wasn’t _forbidden_ , only disapproved of, so why... Why did he leave?

 _Pain teaches you nothing_.

She hated the relief she felt. It did not mix well with the dark dread inside her.

_Castle Deil._

_Maria._

Should she run after the general, plead to him to bring her to the pole? He could execute her, feed her to a dragon – anything would be better than Maria placed in danger. Minerva was nothing but a fool to believe she could predict Doluna, why had she been proud, why had she spared the League—

She was crackling. Years of burden, and now she began to break under its weight.

 _I can’t go on much longer_ , she thought, sliding her fingers down to wipe her eyes. _I can’t... live like this._

The general threw the tent flap aside. He was out of breath, but his smile was pleased.

“Well then, soldier. You’ve brought way too much disappointment, lately. This is your last chance to stay in line, and I suggest you take it. When you leave this tent, you may never retreat again. Fight until death, or the world will soon forget King Osmond even had daughters at all.”

Minerva wanted to swallow, but the muscles in her throat weren’t responding.

“There’s no point in dragging you to the pole”, he continued. “A waste of our punisher’s energy. No, another demotion will be your punishment.”

Another...?  _No._

“The Whitewings are no longer yours.” The general pinned his eyes on her. “ _You’re_ to be sent off to eastern Archanea, and join the Talys invasion force. As for your former _squad_... Grust needs to be fortified. I’m sure we can find a place for them there.”

“That...” Damn her lips, why didn’t they move. “That sounds... reasonable. Sire.”

Her voice so small all of a sudden.

_Pain teaches you nothing._

_Curses._

_Please, no._

“You’re dismissed, soldier.”

Minerva had almost forgotten how to do a Dolunan salute, but the movements came together without her knowing.  
She threw the tent flap aside and tumbled away from the general.

Her feet walked on their own. Her mind thrashed about like gusts of storm winds.

Titania stood alone where they had dismounted. Her back spikes were on edge, and she snapped at whoever came too close.  
The ground around her showed no sign of struggle, no traces Minerva could follow.

Minerva grabbed Titania’s reins as she walked past, didn’t hear her confused growls. She continued her brusque steps, scanned the crowd again and again, but saw nothing. Everything was a smudge of gold and red, silver and bronze, ochre, glaring lights of campfires – and the smells of metal, smoke, sweat, dust, fear, death – all coming at her at once.  _Enough_ , her ears rang to her. _Enough, enough, enough_.

She’d balanced on the edge of oblivion for six years, yet it had never felt this close. Her life had been a flimsy rope bridge over a bottomless chasm.  
Now, the wind had caught on to it, thrashed her about, snapped the ropes, one by one, nothing could keep them together anymore—

Among all the other soldiers with sapphire hair, it was Catria that turned and revealed her face as Minerva panted past.  
She stood close to a circle of Grustian knights, and slid away from them, hid from the knights behind a tent. Minerva almost trampled people in her hurry to get to her.

“ _Catria_ ”, Minerva hissed and pulled her close. “We’re separated.”

“I know, Commander, I’m sorry for—“

“Shut up and listen.” She put her hands around Catria’s face and pulled her even closer, placed her forehead against hers. What she then said was so quiet she could barely hear it spoken herself.

“To death with Doluna. Collide with Prince Marth, and tell him to attack Castle Deil and free Maria. Tell no one else.”

She tore away quickly and turned her back, just as the Grustian soldiers glanced in their direction, and stepped toward Catria. Catria, their new Grustian companion.

Minerva kept her mask of stone until she entered her own tent. She could keep her breathing level until she saw that Palla’s belongings had already been packed away.  
For a moment, the storm inside her was perfectly still.

In the next, that stillness shattered.

She drew Hauteclare and hacked down the ground inside her tent. Like a miner with her pickaxe, she repeated it blow for blow.

She cut everything that had held her together.

Hammered on everything that had ever made her smile.

Every memory of light and laughter, slashed to pieces.

She’d split the earth, until the chasm was as deep as the one inside her.

So she could fall.

Fall endlessly.

 

Alone.


	28. The Pyrathi Island

“Who could have guessed this old lump of rock was a dragon’s home?” Merric did a demonstrative stomp into the ground and adjusted his mages garb. “We knew there’d be pirates, but _dragons_ ?” He flipped his collar over his ears to protect them from the cold wind as he walked closer to Marth.

Marth only shrugged in response and leaned his head against the wall of castle ruins. The coolness of the stone did good to ease his throbbing headache – he’d caught quite the blow from a lance in their earlier battle.

He slid an eye toward the dead manakete by the entrance.

The most muscular units of their army were working with moving the gigantic body, led by Barst and Darros. They heaved it toward the edge of a cliff, in order to make space for their camp. It had been with a heavy heart that Marth had given the order to drop the dead manakete in the ocean. It felt cruel, despite the danger and violent hunger the creature had possessed. Marth always hated watching the people he’d slain be thrown into a pile, as if they didn’t matter at all. Manakete were different, surely, but even they must have their own beliefs about an afterlife.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his leather gauntlet and looked past Merric’s shoulder, over where the people of the League went about their business.  
His archers Gordin and Castor collected the arrows they could use again, throwing the old ones into the piles of firewood. Julian put up the council tent, his thin thief’s fingers desperately trying to hammer the nails to the rocky ground. And Merric, his trusted friend since childhood, stood beside him with his collar still over his ears.

It was a relief to see them all. A bit bruised up, but alive.

Marth’s latest Dolunan encounter hadn’t been too much trouble. They’d crossed the valley of Lefcandith, and finally gotten out of Aurelis’ wall of mountains. But before they could turn their battle to Archanea’s liberation, his army needed to retreat, have a few precious days of rest. Otherwise, the enemy threatened to overwhelm them with their unending numbers. And so, the Archanean League had sought temporary refuge on the neutral Pyrathi Islands, in the hope that the pirate clans that called them a home would leave them alone.

They’d had no such luck.

The first thing that greeted them was a pirate manakete by the name of Mannu, and while his allegiance certainly didn't lie with Doluna, he had no intent to welcome them. He ignited the ground around his worn down castle, and roared at the League that they defiled his holy grounds with their dirty human feet.

So he had sent all of his human pirates at them. Manakete didn’t make much sense.

So far, Marth only encountered one manakete with peaceful intent, a gentle soul by the name Bantu. He stood further away, his eyes and face covered under his hooded cloak. Although not much could be read from him, Marth still noticed how his head followed as the body of the pirate manakete was dragged toward the edge of the cliff.

Marth still couldn’t shake the feeling that their deed had been cruel, and perhaps even unnecessary.

Bantu, after all, would never harm his human friends. Clearly, manakete weren’t all merciless beasts. Marth wished he could get the chance to ask Bantu about it properly. The explanation he’d gotten before had not satisfied him fully. At least he now knew that the manakete easily spiralled into madness, a madness wrought by immortality and the use of their Dragonstones to transform into their true shapes. It distorted their minds if they took on their true form too often. Only if they’d follow Bantu’s example of refusing to use their powers, could they keep their minds from going feral. But that had been the case for millennia – why the manakete moved out of Doluna and turned on the humans _now_ , Bantu wouldn’t answer. The Dragon Emperor, who’d been thought of as dead for a thousand years, was a part of it, and princess Nyna had mentioned the name of the dark sorcerer Gharnef to explain some of Doluna’s movement, but all of it lay like a fog around Marth. He couldn’t quite place his finger on how it all held together, but that had to be a question for a later time. Right now, they had enough on their hands.

Archanea had to be freed. And then... _Altea_. The thought of his home stung in his chest.

Six years had passed, and even though he had lived all those years in Talys, far away from his kingdom, he knew his people suffered. He could feel it in the air he breathed, in the guilt that left his heart in knots.

He wouldn’t rest until he saw the lush shores of his home, again. He knew it could be done.  
Doluna’s armies could be beaten. The dragon beasts could be killed.

Mannu had been their first real fight with one of the manakete, and it had nearly meant an end for them all – but they had emerged victorious. With Merric, their only mage, and Draug, their most armored ground knight, it could be done. The two of them had combined their might to bring the pirate dragon down, but it had cost Draug many injuries. He’d practically acted as a meatshield for the slim and tiny Merric, who had hidden behind him and cast spells viciously.

Draug was currently occupying both of their healers, but the giant knight had still had the time and energy to give Marth’s shoulder a friendly shake before the healers took him away. Marth hoped that meant he didn’t need to worry for him.

The body of Mannu was finally hoisted over the cliff, and it caused such a giant splash that the waves changed their direction for a few seconds. The cheers of almost childish joy from Darros – a former pirate that they’d picked up on Talys – worked to bring a slight smile to Marth’s lips. Fighting an uphill battle was exhausting, but the small breaks in between fights were a blissful oasis. Where ever he looked, he saw friends. Marth would prefer to stay in those moments forever.  
But he had his duties, both a burden and a blessing.

“I’m going inside”, he told Merric, and moved toward the entrance to the castle. “I’d like to get a closer look at these ruins.”

“You don’t think we see enough ruins already?” Merric muttered, and he looked as though he was about to say something else, but was interrupted by a shrill voice cutting through the air.

“Sire, get down! Unknown flier ahead!”

The youngest of the Archanean League, the mere fifteen-year-old archer, nearly tackled Marth to the ground as he threw himself in front of him, his bow drawn.

“Gordin, easy!” Marth cried out and grabbed his arm. “That’s Caeda!”

The flier approached from the west, almost impossible to spot since she flew so high up in the cloudy sky. All Marth knew for sure was that he saw a dot of blue hair on the rider.

Gordin cast a confused look at Marth. “What? Sire, I just saw Princess Caeda two minutes ago when she spoke to me and Castor.”

Marth frowned, and squinted up at the flier. _Well_ , he thought. _There’s a likeness, but something is different_.

Gordin, known for his great eyesight, shook off Marth’s arm and drew his bow anew. “She has Dolunan colors, your highness! I’ll shoot her down!”

Marth put a hand firmly on his shoulder. “Still yourself, Gordin, please. If she wants to do us harm, we’ll know, but until then, let her be. We’re not murderers.”

“They don’t hesitate in murdering _us_ ”, Gordin shot back. “We’re just defending ourselves!”

“Not by sniping someone like this”, Marth said. “That’s not what the League stands for.”

The unfamiliar flier was nearing the ground, and by now, Marth could see it definitely wasn’t Caeda. Where Cadea’s face was soft, this woman was hardened. While the color of their hair was identical, this flier wore hers cut short to her chin instead of flowing freely down her lower back.

Whoever she was, she was definitely on her way towards the island.

Marth drew his rapier and waved it in the air. “Greetings, unknown flier!” he yelled. Gordin and Merric jumped at the sound. “If this is an assassination-attempt, turn around, please! You’re spotted.”

“Your _Highness_ ”, Gordin gasped. “You don’t _ask_ someone if they’re an assassin, they’re obviously going to say no!”

The flier stopped and held up her hands, hovered in the air a rock’s throw above them. “It’s _not_!” she yelled back at Marth. “I come in peace! I am here to deliver a message!”

“I told you”, Gordin muttered.

To add to the confusion, Marth was nearly tackled to the ground a second time as someone dived in front of him, so quickly all that he could see was a blur of blue hair.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Caeda’s voice made the entire encampment stop and look their way. She stood with her short sword ready, between Marth and the new flier. “What is _she_ doing here?”

Marth tried to look up behind Caeda’s shoulder. “Oh, you know her?”

Caeda’s eyes shot lightning as she glared back at him. “She tried to _kill you_.”

“I’m not here to kill anyone _now_ ”, the unknown flier interjected from above. “Please listen to what I have to say!”

“I’d love to”, Marth said and tried to get out of the protective circle around him. “Would you let me pass?”

“Absolutely not”, Caeda answered him, her clear voice bearing a severe tone. “This is madness.”

“Come now, Caeda, you’re the one who risks your life and dives into the fray, just to see if an enemy would like to join our cause – what’s the difference?”

“ _Once_ ”, she protested, before she frowned and looked ahead again. “Well, sure, maybe a couple of times. But then at least I _see_ it in their faces that they _don’t want to be there_. That’s not the case here. This woman was out for your life.”

“Right”, Gordin spoke again. “I remember, her Pegasus smacked Castor in the head at Aurelis Castle!”

“That shouldn’t matter”, Marth whispered. “If she has something to say, I will listen.” He called up to the Dolunan flier. “Come down so we can talk then, stranger!”

The flier nodded curtly, and sailed down. Marth noticed how all three of his friends around him tensed as the stranger dismounted, but he didn’t share their concern. She looked so unthreatening when she placed her gaze on him, her eyes were... dim, and unfocused.

Her knees buckled and she slid along the Pegasus’ body, down on the ground.

“Hey”, Marth called and dove towards her, but once again, Caeda stopped him.

“If this is a trick and she stabs someone, it should be me and not you.”

Caeda knelt beside the flier, turned her over on her back. Caeda placed the flier’s legs over her lap, and while her face was stern, her touch was still so gentle.

“She’s coming to, Marth.” Caeda held her sword ready; it rested over the stranger’s collarbone.

The sky knight blinked, and gave the tip of a sword a quick look.

“Oh”, she murmured, then she looked up and locked eyes with Marth, as if a sword near her throat didn’t bother her. “Sorry. I’m a bit lightheaded. Been flying way up above the clouds. Can’t have Doluna spot me, see.”

Marth crouched beside her, at a safe distance. “Why not?”

“Because this”, the flier said, “is _extremely_ off the books. Execution-level. Can I sit up, please?” Caeda frowned, but slowly slid the sword down on the ground beside her, and surprised Marth by extending a hand. With Caeda’s help, the flier dragged herself up into a sitting position, and drew a deep breath.

“Prince Marth”, she began. “I am Catria, of the Whitewinged Order of Macedon. I have come with a request from my lady and commander, the princess Minerva.”  
Caeda balled her hands into fists, but let the flier continue to speak.

“Minerva wishes to go against Doluna in rebellion; however, her hands are tied so long as the enemy holds her younger sister, Maria, captive. Her request is this: Will you rescue Princess Maria from their clutches, so that my Whitewing sisters and I can... Can join in your fight?”

Marth sat frozen for a moment.

“Was it unclear?” the flier asked with a glint of worry in her eyes. “I rehearsed it in my head all the way here but I could rephrase it if you’d like—“

Marth held up a hand. “No, it’s fine. I acknowledge your message, Catria of Macedon.”

He then rested his eyes on the ground, and scratched himself under his circlet absently.  
What was _this_?

He’d spoken to his ally Lena and her brother Matthis, both of them lesser Macedonan nobles, now in exile. As Marth had wanted to learn more about his enemies, he’d asked them about their kingdom. Eventually, they’d mentioned what the princess Minerva had been before the six-year war. A beloved hero, fighting for her people... Marth had had a hard time imagining that person as the same merciless Dragoon that plagued the battlefields now.

People changed, he knew that well enough. But Lena had also shared information she’d gotten hold of in king Michalis’ court, knowledge that the general citizens of Macedon weren’t supposed to have. Apparently, the princess Minerva wasn’t trusted by her brother the king. Yet he’d still granted her much power, so the rumors in court went that the king had something that kept her in line.

Marth hadn’t wanted to rely on courtly gossip, but on the other hand he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been _off_ about the Macedon affair, just as he felt about the entire war.

And now, hearing this from one of Minvera’s own knights...

He couldn’t dismiss this message. He couldn’t possibly.

“Well then”, Catria said and rose into a clumsy courtesy – her knees almost buckled again. “I’m sorry I cannot stay. Maria will be hurt if they catch me acting out of line as well. But it was a pleasure meeting you, Prince Marth. And you too, de— Ah, rebel flier.”

Marth smiled at her, rested his hands in his lap. “You’ve taken a great risk coming here, Catria. I promise I will consider your message.”

He got a crooked smile from Catria, before she looked up into the sky. “Aw”, she sighed to herself. “Time to fly up way too high again. Good luck, me.”

With that, she took off.

Caeda still kneeled on the ground, with her sword loosely in her hand.

“I’ve never heard such an obvious attempt at a trap”, she said.

“On the contrary”, Marth retorted. “I’ve never heard such a genuine plea for help.”

“Marth, please tell me you’re not _actually_ going to follow up on this?”

“Why shouldn’t I? We suspected from the very beginning that Minerva wasn’t like the other Dolunan forces.”

“Not like the others?” Caeda's frown deepened. “If that Minerva had gotten her way with you, you’d be a blood smear on the ground weeks ago. To me, she seemed pretty serious at getting you killed.”

“From what we heard now, she had plenty of reason to. And, she was in Lefcandith valley, but she didn’t ever bother us.”

Caeda pushed her fingers into her eyes. “Marth, you trust people, and it’s lovely. But you really need a healthy dose of skepticism sometimes.”

“Well. I’m working on it.” Marth looked out over the horizon.

Toward the lands he intended to save. Toward the fight that would require everything he could possibly give.

“But not now”, Marth said. “This time, I will have faith.”


	29. Minerva Alone

The grass felt sharp under Minerva’s feet.  
The sunlight corroded her skin.  
Soft music bled out from the center of the closest town, but it distorted into screeches inside her head.

She walked alone through the outskirts of the camp, but no matter how she may try, she couldn’t escape the looks from the soldiers around her.  
They were everywhere. Unrelenting.

She hadn’t eaten all day.  
Eating meant entering a circle of Grustian soldiers who’d love to kick down the weak and alone. Food wasn’t worth that humiliation.  
She’d enter Titania’s stable box when evening fell, as she usually did. She could always hope that there’d be some meat left on Titania’s daily meal, something she could fry over a tiny fire by herself.

Marching without mercy had not done much good for Titania’s mood; she got snappy as soon as Minerva entered the stables during the day. The wyvern probably thought that Minerva’s arrival meant it was time to return to hours upon hours of pointless walk.  
Titania couldn’t possibly understand why they wouldn’t let her fly, and it pained Minerva so to see her confused gaze each time she tried to stretch her wings, only to have Minerva immediately deny her. And it didn’t hurt less when that confused gaze slowly turned cold, and angry.  
This wasn’t the Macedonan army. Minerva was one out of only three sky knights in the entire Talys-invasion force.  
If the captain let the sky knights fly, it would only stir the ground troops. They’d think it was _unfair_ , the captain said. However hollow that argument sounded to Minerva, she had to stay on the ground. Like the rest of them.  
But how could Minerva explain that to an annoyed wyvern?

It was better for Titania to be left alone during the afternoons, when the camp was being set. Better if Minerva only stepped inside her box when night fell.

And since Minerva shared a tent with three other soldiers she didn’t know the names of, and who might just stab her down if she turned her back, her only option was to wander.  
Her thoughts were her only company.

She wondered if Catria had delivered her message.  
She wondered if Catria had even _heard_ her say it.  
She had no energy left to send prayers to the divines either.

So she wandered.  
Became a wraith.  
An animal that snarled at anyone coming too close.

She slept in the stables.  
Titania was at least glad of Minerva’s company at night; the wyvern had figured out that it meant _no marching, only sleep_.  
She huddled her head into Minerva’s arms, her content sighs the only thing Minerva could cling to when the spikes of her lonely world threatened to stab into her from every direction.

Without Palla, Minerva couldn’t keep her thoughts in line.  
No one looked at her like she was worth the light of day.  
No one brushed her forelocks out of her eyes, and reminded her that there was hope.  
No one gave her a gentle smile, and told her that their fight had a purpose.  
Convincing herself on her own was impossible; Minerva’s thoughts only spiralled down, down.

She never slept peacefully. Crying into Titania’s scales only lessened her soul’s pain so much. When her tears ran out and her body could shiver no longer, she was nothing but a black hole.  
_No one_.  
_No one was there_.

She felt stretched out, tense as a gallows noose. As the time passed, the nightmares came to plague her even in plain daylight.  
She thought she heard galloping hooves right in front of her, and she’d curled up into a ball immediately. She stayed like that for a long time, but she never felt any impact. The threat of being trampled still rung in her ears as she shakily removed her arms from her face. No horse in sight. The sound still there.  
The gleam of metal that neared her throat, that she madly waved at to deflect, had been nothing but empty air, either.  
Were the soldiers real, then?  
Was the war?  
Was _she_?

 

Minerva stayed in the saddle, although her will to do so lessened more for each day.  
_It’s for Maria_ , her mind slurred at her. But there was a scared child inside her, cornered and bleeding, that cried; _who’s Maria?_  
And it screamed at her to run, to never look back.

She had enough rationality left to keep up the march, although, for every new sunrise she saw, her body became increasingly sluggish. She feared the day she would no longer have the energy to overcome herself, to persuade her body to mount Titania _just one more time_.  
Sooner or later, that day would come.  
Sooner or later, she’d be left behind, lying in the frost-covered grass, without the resolve to stand again.

\---

A few weeks passed before she heard of the Archanean League again.

The Dolunan force moved slowly across Archanea, and was now only a day’s march north of Castle Deil. Minerva’s eyes were restlessly stuck on the south horizon. She kept moving, but her gaze never did, and she nearly walked into the wall of a lieutenant’s tent. She barely reacted, only stopped and stared at the shadows inside it.

“Castle Deil calls for reinforcements”, she overheard one of the lieutenants inside say. “The Archanean League is closing in. If our unit can take a detour around our planned path, we might be able to surprise the League and finally crush the rebels. They won’t be expecting us from the north, since they’re on their way east, toward the capital.”

Something awoke in Minerva as she heard it.

 _Right_ , she thought and stared into the tent wall. _The League... I... promised Palla, that Doluna... shall burn._

She stood still for a time, before she wordlessly traversed the camp, toward the stables. The order to break off from the planned route and march south spread quickly. As Minerva passed by, every soldier had already begun to prepare their mounts. Marching for Castle Deil was a detour that would take the cavalry a few days, at least. The Grustian war horses weren’t built for traversing steep mountains. And Minerva would have to plod alongside them, slowly, uselessly.

 _Unless_...

Minerva stopped outside the stables, and locked eyes with a fellow flier. Dolunan, but why would that matter? Macedon didn’t belong to her, anymore.

“Hey”, she said.

The other wyvern rider only stared at her, but then she frowned. “What do you want, stable wraith?”

“We’re going south”, Minerva answered. “And if you can seek out our captain and ask permission to fly, I think he’ll consider it.”

“Why in the name of the Emperor would I?”

“The captain won’t listen to me.”

“Then why should _I_ listen to you?

“I know we are both tired of sliding along the ground like worms, and I know our wyverns hate it too. It’s perfectly reasonable for the captain to agree – we fliers can go ahead to Castle Deil, and relay to them that the Talys invasion-force has heeded their call.”

The other wyvern rider squinted, probably trying to figure out if Minerva’s words were a trap of some sort. But the temptation of flight must have been greater than her suspicion – the Dolunan flier turned around with a final glare at Minerva, her steps aimed for the captain’s tent.

 

Only an hour later, Minerva heard that the captain had granted the request.

Minerva felt a sting of pride inside her.  _Look, Michalis, I CAN plan ahead_ , her mind laughed.

 

She was on the way within a fortnight. Titania let out happy purrs for the entire journey, and that combined with the familiar wind in Minerva’s face helped to breathe a little life into Minerva’s heart again.

She flew quite far behind the two other sky knights – not far enough to lose them, but not so close so they’d bother her. Both of the proud Dolunan wyvern knights did a spectacular job in pretending Minerva didn’t exist, and she honestly preferred it that way.

She couldn’t care less what they thought of her. She was on the way to _Castle Deil_.

No emissary of Michalis' was guiding her, this time. It was complete madness, she knew it.

The scales of fate tipped wildly around her, impossible to predict.

But it was better to dive headfirst into madness than to slowly be consumed by it. Anything but that.


	30. Crackled Cobblestones

The castle looked just as it had when Minerva had visited last. The northern side was fortified by a chain of mountains, the castle itself like a blister on its lush walls. The south doors of the castle faced vast plains, and a shimmering lake was just by the western gate. The only way inside was through the southern gate – or, from above.  
And from above she came.

General Zharov greeted Minerva with dozens of longbows, as he usually did. The other wyvern riders jerked back a bit in surprise, reining in their wyverns.  
If they had expected a warm welcome, they obviously didn’t know General Zharov.

“Princess Minerva”, the general said as he strode toward them, with only a narrow glance at the other two fliers. “What brings you here? You’ve left your post – not very wise... Might I remind you, poor conduct on your part—”

“I am aware of my situation, thank you”, Minerva interrupted him. “I did not come to make trouble. We bring a message from the Grustian troop up north – our captain answers to your request for reinforcement. Our cavalry is marching through the mountains as we speak. They’re expected to arrive in a few days.”

Her words had General Zharov’s face light up in a smile.

“Yes, perfect!” he exclaimed. “That is indeed great news! We will strike the League when they’ve marched past, and crush them from the rear!” The general turned his head to the side and continued, more quietly; “Then Doluna must reward me, I hate wasting my time babysitting an annoying brat.”

A flash of red sparked at the edges of Minerva’s vision at his words, but she clenched her jaw and bent her head. _Ignore him_.

She commanded a landing, and Titania once again thumped down on the cobblestones in the yard – stones still crackled from Minerva’s last visit to this cursed prison.  
The sound of crumbling gravel broke through the mist in her mind, pulled it back into the present. It reminded her that she’d been here before, that she’d longed for this place, she’d fought, she’d butchered, she’d suffered – just to stand on these very cobblestones again.

Like small rays of light, the familiarity broke through the daze she’d been walking in during her weeks alone.

She was close.

And this was real.

“General Zharov”, she said, once again daring to meet his gaze. “I... I beg you, even though it may not be the purpose of me coming here... Let me see Maria. Please.”

Pleading to his compassion was useless, she knew that. But she felt like she had to try nonetheless.  _So close_...

“Impossible, I’m afraid.” The general twirled his spear, not seeming sorry at all. “It’s not the purpose of your visit, like you said. If your sister’s well-being concerns you, then follow orders.”

Minerva nodded her head. “Always, general.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, but that was at the same time a relief. She hadn’t felt _anything_ for weeks, and seeing the face of the man she wanted so badly to kill served as a great rekindling to her hatred.

 _Doluna will burn_.

Genreal Zharov was about to speak again, but he was interrupted by one of his sentries, who broke through the doors leading from the watchtower into the courtyard.

“General!” The sentry panted. “Grave news!”

Everyone present turned their eyes to the sentry, and he continued; “The rebel army has been sighted, east of the castle! They’re _on their way here_!”

General Zharov’s face instantly turned into the same color as a Macedonan banner. “ _What_?” he roared. “Why in creation would the rebels come _here_?”

He collected himself, hugged the spear tightly in his hands. “Blast... Blast it all...”

In one nimble motion, he pointed his spear toward Minerva and the two Dolunan fliers.

“You!” His cry was on par with a furious wyvern. “Dragoons, or whatever you are – _sortie_ , now! Protect this castle until the reinforcements arrive! You’re under my command!”

In theory, they were, so Minerva shouted with the others a ‘ _yes, sire!_ ’, and flew towards the northeastern wall. They perched there, and Minerva held her gaze fixed on the eastern woods.

 

There was movement between the leaves, to be sure. And one strikingly blue figure at the front.

So.

Marth had arrived, then.

Catria must’ve reached them; there was no other reason for them to come by Castle Deil. Minerva wanted to smile, but at the same time scream out loud at herself for her stupidity. So many things beyond her control. So many impossible hopes.

Minerva had never been fool enough to _truly_ think she could unravel herself from all the chains Michalis had put over her shoulders. She had dreamed, she had hoped – but never believed. Michalis threats echoed in her mind, freshly as if they’d been spoken only the day before.

_The sister you love will be no more._

But now... Now she saw an opening, however narrow. Maria wouldn’t get a chance like this again. And if everything failed, _Michalis_ would be the one to learn that nothing was more dangerous than someone with nothing to lose.

One way or another, Minerva’s time with Doluna would end.

 

The League had charged, and reached the east wall of the castle.

Zharov’s sentries answered, but Minerva and the other fliers waited for the rebels to get a bit closer.

The fields around the castle rang with the sound of steel slamming into steel, and the duller sounds of it cutting through flesh and bone.

The League outranked the Castle Deil troops almost immediately. Marth’s soldiers cut through them like a spear. After all, the League had fought by teeth and nail for months, while Zharov’s sentries had never truly seen a battle for six years.

Joy and regret danced around in Minerva’s mind as she watched the League progress. Her thoughts were a nonsense she couldn’t understand.

Perched on the highest tower, General Zharov barked his orders, and the sound cut through the noise in Minerva’s mind.

“Fliers! _Attack_!”

One of the other sky knights took initiative, yelled ‘ _follow me_ ’ and dived toward Marth. Minerva didn’t think twice as she lunged after the Dolunan fliers.

She had to buy Maria every precious second she could. If Minerva obeyed for just a little longer, Zharov had to wait with the order to kill – he was confident to a fault, and for every moment he believed he could win this fight, Maria may yet be safe. But the sentries could still act on their own accord, couldn’t they?

_Please, Maria, be safe—_

Arrows rained toward them. Two bow paladins and two archers was all the League had in terms of ranged attacks, since their mage was preoccupied with blasting through Zharov’s armored guards. But for three disjointed fliers, four archers were danger enough.

One of the Dolunan fliers fell to the arrows before they’d reached halfway to the League’s front. Minerva heard the arrows whistle past Titania’s wings as well, and she subtly placed herself above the last Dolunan flier. That allowed her another few precious moments of safety from the vicious projectiles, and she closed in on the League.

The Dolunan flier was no fool, he pulled at the reins to try and switch places with Minerva, protect himself. But as he arched his head to find the best position, an arrow burrowed itself cleanly through the soft parts of his chin. His eyes widened in fear, and he froze. He let go of the reins, and without a master’s command, his wyvern continued on beneath Minerva. The next volley smacked into the wyvern’s chest and wings, and they spiralled down on the ground. Leaving Minerva alone in the sky.

The League’s flying demon was assisting the mage at the very front, hadn’t yet turned to Zharov’s poor excuse of a flying force. And Minerva wouldn’t give her the chance.

She had reached the League, now – not far behind the front, where she could take their mage down with one of her throwing axes. But she didn’t. Her focus was on the person that dispatched his units, right in the middle of it all.  _Marth_.

She swept past above him – and jumped.

She was less of a target down on the ground. Should she stay in the air, it was only a matter of time before the archers sniped her down as well.

Minerva landed right beside Marth. Dust spiralled up from the impact, which seemed to disorient Marth for a moment. That gave her the opportunity to use Hauteclere's pommel and smash his steel sword out of his hands before he had time to react.

Within a moment, she had him pinned. The pommel of Hauteclare continued in an arc, and tackled the prince to the ground. She caught his throat between the hook and shoulder of the axe, the tip of the second edge touching the skin over his jugular.

And she stopped.

Mere moments after, she felt the point of a spear dig into her own throat, far enough to break the skin.

“Careful, _Dragoon_ ”, someone behind her said.

“Caeda, hold it”, Marth hissed at the one holding the spear.

The second of silence that followed felt eternal.

The spear point shivered.

“This was _not_ part of the plan, Marth”, Caeda slowly hissed back.

Marth said nothing, lay perfectly still apart from carefully clasping his hands over his chest. It gave the appearance that he merely rested, that he had intended to be tackled to the ground. His odd calm didn’t spread over to Minerva, however; her shoulders tense, her breathing uneven.

“Let’s keep up the appearance of a standoff”, Minerva said through her teeth. “What’s your status, prince?”

The spear point smarted as it dug deeper. Minerva felt the blood flow down her shoulder, cold as winter rain. She still didn’t move.

“My best knight is inside the castle as we speak”, Marth responded.

Minerva narrowed her eyes. She must be mistaken – she thought she saw his lips twitch into a smile. A slightly nervous one, but still genuine.

“If anyone can break through a mass of sentries on patrol, he can. You have my word, Princess Minerva.”


	31. A Silence Broken

Maria had deemed one spot of her prison as the most defensive.

It was the far right corner, behind the bed, in the shadow of the barred window. It took someone with longer legs than her two and a half steps to reach it, instead of the other corners that took a maximum of two steps. Half a step, and it made all the difference. It would give her a few extra moments in the event of an assault – and she could hide in the shadow of the bed frame for protection. She had had plenty of time to figure all that out.

So now, when she heard the jarring sounds of steel and desperate screams of pain, she took her few belongings and curled up in that corner. She did not let her eyes off the thick metal door.

Her dress complained; she still grew taller, and the last time she’d gotten new clothing was three years ago. Her garb burst at its seams. Though uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to the uncertainty of the moment. She hugged her mending staff in both hands.

If someone tried to attack her, she’d have that staff to protect herself with. Perhaps she could hold her own – for a little while, at least. Maria had attempted what Minerva called strength-training, but it did nothing but drain her body, since the food was just enough to fill her, nothing more. Thus Maria mostly paced, as a way to keep her heart pumping.

She’d read so much about the importance of keeping her body moving, even if it was just a little. She read about how soldiers in their prime could rot after only a few days in a dungeon, and she’d gone cold at the thought of what it then could do to a thin child. Even after so many years, she still feared the threat of shrivelling away.

She had _chosen_ this. But what did a twelve-year-old child know of choice?

It had only taken her a few weeks of captivity to realize that what Michalis had described as an act of heroism, was nothing but empty days, and empty promises.

He’d told her she could save the lives of tens of thousands, that her leaving Macedon ' _for a while_ ' was a way to peacefully resolve what would otherwise harm so many innocents. She’d accepted that, of course. She had smiled at him and their father, waved goodbye with ignorance as her courage.

And she had waited for him. Waited for the day when he’d finally tell her it was time to come home.

She stopped waiting years ago, but she had yet to stop her heart from hoping. Hope, that she’d once again be able to step into the castle gardens, a crisp autumn morning, and have Minerva bellow a _good morning_ from above. Hope, that she’d feel snow under her feet, hear the sounds from the capital travel up to Macedon’s castle halls _—_

 

The tap of running steps echoed in the hallway right outside. Maria recognized her sentries' agitated voices – the sound growing louder as the sentries moved closer. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t good.

She closed her eyes, imagined Minerva’s face. A hardened warrior.

That was what Maria had to pretend to be, for as long as she could.

Minerva would never forgive her if she died without trying.

She felt inside her dress. The book on healing arts was stacked against her torso. She hoped it might at least take a little bit of the blow if she were to be stabbed in the chest.

The door was kicked in. It slammed into the wall and revealed the shape of one of the sentries. Maria recognized them all. This was the one whose eyes had bled some pity as he looked at her the other week; but now, he showed no sympathy as he took the two and a half steps and kicked the bed away.

Maria looked as helpless as she could. She remembered what Minerva had passionately taught her during the years of peace – ' _if an opponent looks down on you, try to have them underestimate your power and take them by surprise'_.

It was strange how much she remembered from the sessions that hadn’t interested her too much. It was as though her mind cradled every bright memory and kept it loud inside her, so that she wouldn’t forget. And every moment spent with her sister, was as bright as a star.

The sentry sliced his drawn sword at Maria.

She brought up her mending staff to parry it with as much force as she could muster, praying to all divines that the wood would be able to hold the edge back. She heard a surprised grunt. He hadn’t expected that. Good.

Maria shouldn’t give him any time to aim the second blow. She pushed herself away from the wall, in an attempt to tackle him with her book-torso. The sentry dodged with a step back, and Maria slid down on the floor, hit her chin so hard her teeth rattled.

Dazed, she attempted to roll away from him, toward the door – but he grabbed hold of her hair and slammed her head into the floor again.

She saw stars.

She dug her fingers into the floor, felt the powerful surges of the Earth beneath. It helped her recover her sight, enough to at least try to fight back.

She didn’t remember anything else Minerva had taught her. She flailed her elbows and legs, tried anything just to keep that sword away. Though she knew it was just a play for time. The castle would be her grave.

 

At least she had seen that Minerva fared well, some months ago. She hoped Est was fine, too. She would have loved to see her again, how much she must have grown if Maria didn’t even recognize her own reflection anymore.

 _Don’t grieve me_ , she thought, as she scrambled for the hilt of the sentry’s sword, the tip angled towards her face. She held it back, her hands pushed against the crossguard of the sword and the guard's wrist.  _Don’t grieve, don’t lose yourself in darkness, I chose this, it's my fault, I—_

She heard a horse neigh. That was new – there had never been a horse inside the castle before.

The sentry kicked at her arm, and managed to pull the sword out of her desperate grasp. Maria held up her arms before her face, cried out as the blade hacked itself into her radial bones. The sentry readied another strike – the sharpness would chop into her again, she knew it, this was it, she’d die—

“Princess!”

She knew the voice of every castle sentry, and that wasn’t one of them.

Something slammed into her attacker with a metallic clank. She seized the chance; her instincts took control of her movements. She slid away across the floor, using nothing but her heels. She couldn’t move her arms, they hurt so much. Once she had reached the other end of the room, she stopped to breathe, and watched the struggle that took place by the wall opposite her.

The stranger that had clashed with the sentry was a boy, not much older than Maria herself. Seventeen, perhaps. His hair was similar to Palla’s, like clover fields in late summer, but now stained red at the tips from the blood of multiple wounds. He wore intricate armor, metal tinted in green and lined with bronze – he had to be a knight, then.  
But why would a knight she’d never seen before barge into her cell and come to her rescue?

Maria’s sentry and almost-murderer had his sword-arm jammed against the wall, pushed back by the weight of the armored stranger. The sentry made a desperate attempt to bite his attacker, but the stranger responded with cold ease. He slammed the cross-guard of his sword into the sentry’s face, and it gave him an opening big enough to cut open the sentry’s throat.

Maria didn’t feel anything in particular as the body of the sentry fell. That, she realized, was shock. She’d felt it once before, as she’d witnessed the death of her two favorite guards outside her window. That was many years ago, but it was a lesson she’d never forgotten. ' _Don’t befriend your sentries'_. She’d screamed then, screamed at General Zharov to stop. Now, she made no sound.

She sat numb, before some part of her awoke again. She took in the shape of the knight that had pulled her out of the jaws of death. He panted audibly, supported himself against the wall and slid down to the floor with his arm hugging his belly.

“You’re injured”, Maria breathed to the stranger. Her voice sounded strange and unfamiliar. She used it so rarely.

“It can wait”, the stranger breathed back. “I’m glad I got here in time, princess.”

She bumbled into a sitting position with a squint at her bleeding arms. Healing bones was tricky and took a long time, so she only pulled her tendons and blood vessels back together, closed the wound. Chipped bones she could live with for a while longer.

That was, _if_ she lived.

“I’m glad you got here too”, she said and took a hold of her mending staff that lay on the floor. It was split in half, but still better than nothing. “Lend me your broken arm, stranger.”

“I didn’t know there was anything _un-_ broken, princess.”

She ignored his tired attempt at a joke, and pulled his left arm toward her. He winced, but she ignored that too. She called for the caring magic of the earth through the fibres in her staff, made a quick, makeshift mending of his injuries.

“That’s nice of you, princess.”

“Call me Maria.”

“Abel.”

The stranger arose, his footing slightly unsteady. “I’m going to ask of you to stay behind me, your highness.”

Maria cocked her head, still kneeling by the wall. “Pray tell”, she said, “what awaits me if I do?”

“The Archanean League is here to get you out, by order of Prince Marth.” Abel stepped out through the door. Maria felt something close to fear at the thought of leaving her familiar room. Her life had only included that for so long. The outside world had become more and more of a dream.

 _A hope_.

Abel grabbed the reins of a horse waiting in the hallway outside, and turned around to reach out a hand for her.

“The danger is not yet over”, he said. “There are still sentries about. But stay behind me, and I shall protect you, or die trying.”

How odd, to hear a stranger say such things. Some part of Maria grew suspicious. Was she walking out of one trap, just to find herself in a worse prison? She’d never heard of this Archanean League, after all.

“Please, your highness”, Abel continued. “Your sister is waiting.”

Maria got to his side within a breath. If this was another trap, she’d take that chance.

She’d take that chance, any day.


	32. Radiance

General Zharov was losing patience. His voice carried curses over the entire plain, sending jolts of fear down Minerva’s spine.  
He’d notice she wasn’t trying, he’d see through her hollow facade, any second now.

 _What in the world am I doing_ , she asked herself repeatedly.

Her arms were weakened by the trembling fear inside her, but she kept her focus solely on Marth.  
A worried roar echoed from above, and Minerva forced her eyes and face upward.

“Titania, _be still_ ”, she roared back, and the wyvern, bless her animal intelligence, did nothing but land a bit further away from the standstill. She peered at Minerva, stepping restlessly in place.

Minerva stared her down, willing her to stay back. A swordsman from the League aimed a blow at Titania, and she ducked away from him with a snarl.

“ _Oi_ , don’t harm the wyvern”, Marth called to his troops from the ground, angling his head to look at Titania.

Minerva’s shoulders relaxed a little, and in an immediate response, the spear point that cut at the side of her throat stung a little bit less. She looked back down on the prince.

“Don’t suppose you can remove your axe now, princess Minerva?” Caeda, the demon flier. Her voice wasn’t nearly as harsh, now, but it still held a serious threat. Minerva only grunted a ‘ _no_ ’ in response, but her fingers shook in doubt. This wasn’t necessary, anymore. Zharov couldn’t possibly be so slow as to believe Minerva still fought for him – a proper Dolunan soldier would have sacrificed their own life to end the Rebel Prince by now. A true Dolunan warrior would not stop at the threat of a spear slicing them apart.  
But Minerva couldn’t move; not her arms, not her eyes. The prince still lay with his hands clasped, so calm in the midst of all strangeness. Minerva’s threat may be an act, but that act could turn real any moment, for all he knew. How could he trust, when he was a hair’s width from death?

The prince angled his head backwards, and the edge of Hauteclere almost poked through his skin as he did.

“Oh look”, he said, a smile spreading over his face. “That’s Abel.”

That name meant nothing to Minerva, but she still followed his gaze to see what he meant.  
And dropped Hauteclare to the side.

“ _Minervaaaa_!”

Her movements were mechanical when she swatted the spear away from her throat, her feet not working at first but then taking bumbling, running steps.  
The bees that had swarmed in her mind all these years, froze in the air as she ran. It made room for her senses to surge in how clear every color looked, how the sunlight basked in radiance. It wasn’t overwhelming, anymore.  
How could the world be more beautiful than now?

They almost slammed into each other. Was it painful? Minerva had no idea.

She lifted Maria, hugged her so tightly as she buried her face in Maria’s shoulder, feeling Maria do the same. Minerva couldn’t make a sound, could only listen to Maria’s laughing sobs. Earth magic spiralled all around them, but that feeling was nothing in comparison with the radiance Minerva had inside.

“Look at you”, she finally whispered, words drowned in tears.

She put Maria down, but couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not ever.

When they finally pulled away, it was so Minerva could look at her face. Maria was flushing red from tears, her bright eyes the same color as tulips. Her fiery hair hung in a long tangle, kept out of her face with her golden diadem. The same diadem she had worn before she left Macedon, six years ago.

“I have missed you so much”, Maria whispered as they looked into each other’s faces. “You have no idea.”

Minerva couldn’t help but laugh, even as tears still escaped her eyes. “I think I do.”

They embraced again. Perhaps the world continued around them. Minerva didn’t really care if it did.

“Are you unharmed?”

“I’m fine. Thanks to Abel.”

Minerva let go with one arm and pulled the knight who stood by Maria’s side into their embrace. The knight let out a surprised ‘ _oh_ ’, but didn’t protest.

“Thank you”, Minerva whispered.

“It’s my duty, your highness”, the knight answered and gave her shoulder an uncertain pat. “I follow my prince Marth’s orders.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Minerva’s voice was thick. “I thank you for your courage.”

She let him go, and noticed he was smiling. He bowed his head, perhaps the equivalent of an Altean salute. “I’m glad I could help, your highness.”

Titania had trotted to them without Minerva noticing, and the wyvern bent her neck to sniff Maria’s hair, letting out a pleased growl. Maria put her arms around the muzzle fearlessly, her precious, loud laugh reaching even to the most distant places of the castle. Minerva’s tears started to fall again, if they had ever stopped.  
Someone was shouting, and it interrupted the wonderful sound of Maria’s laughter. Minerva looked up toward the tower where General Zharov still stood. Her sight was a blur, but she still heard him.  
He sounded desperate.  
And, Minerva realized, _alone_.

She blinked away her tears, focused on the figure perched atop the tower. On the man she had wanted dead for so long.  
But now, as she looked upon him, she felt no such thing.

She could have mounted Titania and been done with him in a heartbeat, but why? What was the point? Where there once had been a fiery lust to kill, there was now a simple calm.

General Zharov jolted as lightning crackled from behind him. The magic enclosed him, and shut down his furious screaming. The general stood completely stiff and still, before a gentle push tipped him over the edge of the tower. Zharov’s spear clattered down on the courtyard below, before his body followed with a numb thud.

The general’s killer, the League’s only mage, peeked over the rails. He waved toward Marth before descending the stairs again.

 

How quick death was. It took a life so indifferently, ended six years of torment in a heartbeat.  
And there was no corroding satisfaction inside Minerva for it. Her heart had no room for malice in that moment, only gratitude. And light.  
Maria hadn’t so much as looked at Zharov’s downfall, she still giggled from Titania’s friendly nudges, and as Minerva looked back at her, Maria took a hold of her hand. She was still shining from joy, but her face turned more composed as their gazes met.

“I don’t know what’s going on”, she said, “but right now, I don’t care very much.”

Minerva hugged her fingers. “Me neither.”

The battlefield settled around them. The soldiers of the League were all busy looting the fallen Dolunan knights from any valuable weapons, gold or healing items. They moved so casually, patted each other on the back or gave each other playful nudges.

To them, this was just another battle.

And to Minerva, the entire world.

Prince Marth walked up toward the three of them, stretching his back and swatting at the grass stains he had received on his cloak when Minerva had tackled him down. Right behind him was the demon flier, spinning a bloodied spear in her hands. Her stern face was softer, now, but she still followed Marth in full attention.

“Greetings, princesses of Macedon”, Marth said. He rubbed his throat, but his smile was wide.

“Fantastic job, Abel”, he complimented his knight, and Abel smiled humbly in response.

“Thank you, liege”, Abel said. “Though I wouldn’t have gotten so far, if the young princess hadn’t healed me.”

Maria’s back straightened, and she beamed proudly at them all. “My pleasure.”

Minerva tried to stand like that as well, but she couldn’t stop weeping. Her mask failed her. So she bowed.

“Prince Marth, I can finally greet you properly.”

The prince held up his hands. “No need to bow, I am but an outcast.”

“And so, I am too.” Minerva wiped away her tears, but new ones immediately took their place. How was there room for so much? “I couldn’t be more grateful to you.”

The prince took his hand away from his throat with a low chuckle. “Is it too bold of me to say, that you couldn’t be more welcome?”

Minerva’s own chuckle got stuck in her throat, but this time because of tears of joy. No longer from the crushing weight of thousands of chains. “Not at all, your highness.”

Behind Marth, the demon flier Caeda slowly sheathed her spear. She met Minerva’s gaze, and tilted her head slightly to the side. She still had the air of a brave warrior, but something about her was welcoming, too.

“No more need for _that_ , I hope?” Caeda gestured at Hauteclere, lying in the grass a few wyvern-length’s away.

Minerva let out a choked laugh. “No, no.” She shook her head, wiped her eyes once more. “Maria’s plight was what forced me to treat you as an enemy, even when I knew you were not. Suffice to say, I am deeply sorry for that.”

Her tears had finally stopped. She should try to look a little more like a noble, but it was difficult with a face puffed up from tears, and with her thoughts only focused on the warm, breathing figure beside her.

 _Maria_.

Her mind sung, in a voice she hadn’t heard in years. The shadows of her past could no longer drill their fingers into her heart – Minerva could still see them, the glaring shapes of her pain – but with Maria at her side, now there was room for determination to grow. The embers of Minerva’s rebellion sparking into a bonfire of purpose, burning her doubts.

“The whole world has gone mad”, she continued, steadying her gaze on Marth and Caeda both. “Macedon fights for Doluna, and my own brother, Michalis, leads them. On their hands is the blood of countless Macedonans praying for peace, the very people we were sworn to protect. Nor am I free of this sin, but I have long fought for a chance to set things right again.”

Marth silently listened, his smile turning into a more serious expression.

“The world has gone mad indeed”, he agreed. “And all that has been lost... It might not ever be truly regained. But it is my belief that we mustn’t lose our vision of peace, that we can overcome this injustice that Doluna has wrought on us all. Princess, our kingdoms were allies, once. It is my hope they could be, again.”

“As is mine”, Minerva said, and her hand found her heart. An instinctive gesture, but it no longer felt as damning as it had since the day the banner of New Macedon had been raised for the first time. She looked at Maria, and seeing her smile and nod, she again bowed deeply and continued:

“We are yours to command, prince. Let us help you defeat Doluna and repay them for sullying everything we hold dear.”

Marth bent down in front of her, so their eyes were at the same level. His gentle gaze sparked of a mixture of joy and resolve both.

“It will not be an easy fight, but we’ll make them tremble. I know we will.” He carefully nudged her shoulder with a lighthearted smile. “Also, I _mean_ it – you do not need to bow. Welcome to the Archanean League, princesses of Macedon.”

It was as if his words finally washed away the last remaining piece of old fear, creating an air of calm. Minerva breathed deeply, and stood straight again.

Marth looked over his shoulder, and was met by a soft smile from Caeda.

“A good day”, he said to her in a jesting voice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The flier let out a laugh, and pulled him into half a hug with her arm over his shoulder. She let her gaze land on Minerva and Maria, and her smile widened.

“Fine, you were right.” Caeda patted Marth’s shoulder with a mischievous light in her eyes, and pointed a finger at his face. “ _This_ time.”

Marth only chuckled in response. Many of the League’s soldiers had started to leave the castle grounds, heading east. Marth turned around too, and Caeda let go of him. The prince then gave another smile in the direction of Minerva and Maria, gesturing at them to follow.

 

As they began their walk away from the now desolate Castle Deil, Minerva’s steps were light. And as her hands once again took its hold on Hauteclere’s handle, she felt how she left a part of her behind.

She sheathed her axe, stepped out of the shell that was the Crimson Dragoon, and became Minerva once again.


	33. New Faces

Maria had a thousand questions. She hadn’t heard of the recent fall and recapturing of Aurelis, but she asked very little about current war politics – her focus lay elsewhere.

Was the cherry garden in castle Macedon still intact? What had the weather been like the last times Minerva had gone home? Healing master Talia – was she alive and well? Was there any news of the Archanean assassins that had robbed them of a father?

One painful inquiry after the other. Minerva’s jaw clenched without her thinking, and her temples ached even when she opened her mouth to speak. She kept her answers short, reluctant. Minerva wanted to answer her properly, but she’d never been home – something that had Maria stare at her in disbelief. And to both her resentment and relief, Minerva could truthfully answer ‘ _I don’t know_ ’ in regard to the assassins.

Although, in her heart, Minerva was certain that no foreign assassin had ever set foot on their father’s threshold. No one entered their father’s rooms, if they weren’t personally welcomed.

 _... Michalis_.

A name that stung and burned like venom.

Minerva looked at Maria. Her hand tightly clasped Minerva’s, her eyes sometimes darting nervously to the sky, the trees, the ground.

So Minerva said nothing of what suspicions lay in her thoughts. It was for the best; Maria had enough on her mind, and the questions never stopped raining. There would be a time for proper answers.

 

The first and most passionate of all Maria’s questions, though, was that of the Whitewings.

“I don’t want to spoil this”, Maria said. “But I must ask. Where is Est? Why were Palla and Catria not here with you?”

Minerva’s face turned stern, her eyes drawn toward the southwestern horizon.

“They’re... They’re fine.” _I hope_. Minerva bit the inside of her cheek and drew a deep breath. “Doluna was displeased with my progress, and they made sure I knew the consequences. We were forced apart... We had no choice but to obey. Palla, Catria, Est, all of them were... sent to Grust.”

Minerva’s throat burned, and shame clouded her mind for a moment. She shouldn’t _let_ her hate creep back into her heart, but try as she might, she couldn’t help how it showed its ugly face within her again. And with it came sorrow, too.

It felt criminal to be saddened by the Whitewing’s absence, when _Maria_ was there with her. But Minerva wanted them there. She wanted to know they were safe, have them share in her happiness, have their very presence ease the confusion that still made attempts to poke holes through Minerva’s brightness.

Maria looked to the side, her head sinking slightly. “Oh, that’s... I’m sorry.”

Minerva closed her eyes, and for the whisper of a moment, her mind constructed the image of Palla smiling at her. Her back was straight, as it always were, her face both proud and gentle. Her gaze steady on Minerva, unyielding. Radiating a promise to protect and persevere.  _Have faith in us_ , Palla’s smile said. _We’ll see you soon_.

Minerva opened her eyes again, the image gone from her mind’s eye. Instead, she saw the backs of hundreds of the League’s soldiers in a crowded mess, as they marched under the shadows of the trees. She glanced down at Maria, hugged her fingers tighter.

Maria was real. She was there. As was the League.

She had to anchor herself in the present.

“They’ll stay alive and well”, Minerva said to Maria, with a weak smile. “I know it. My knights wouldn’t give up. None of them ever faltered before, no matter what we faced. And I know that they’re still around, because the only reason Marth could know about you, was through Catria. I asked her to reach out to him, and it couldn’t have been easy. But she did it.”

A blanket of warmth enclosed her heart when she spoke. She reminded herself that when, _when_ , she saw Catria, she would thank her eternally for her courage.

_When I see her again._

She was tired of always fearing the worst.

“Catria... she was always so nice”, Maria said with a small smile. “I would have loved... Loved to see them all again.”

“You will”, Minerva said and moved to firmly hug her shoulder. “I’m sure of it.”

\---

As the Archanean League stopped to set up camp, Minerva and Maria were interrupted in their effort to put up one of the tents by none other than prince Marth.

“Let me show you around and introduce you to our key fighters in the League”, Marth offered. Minerva was not about to turn him down. She wished for nothing else than to understand her new surroundings.

They traversed the myriad of odd tents, spread out like wild saplings – a design far from Doluna’s and Macedon’s standard of disciplined rows.

Marth waved at every second soldier they walked past, and the soldiers responded in turn with a nod and a curious look in Maria’s and Minerva’s direction. Maria beamed at them all, while Minerva only stared at them uncertainly. A new face had meant a threat for so long; she couldn’t ignore the warning bells inside her, even though her thoughts hissed at her to get herself in order, stop being such a shaky mess.

Given time, perhaps she could. But right now, she’d have to tolerate that every curious gaze reminded her of the thousands of attentive Macedonans listening for their First General’s next devastating command. It left her guts in knots, but she’d tolerate it, and hopefully, she could one day smile back at them the way Maria did.  _Hopefully_.

Marth’s first stop was by a campfire, a few arms-lengths away from the people surrounding it. The soldiers looked up, and while all smiled, only one gave a friendly wave.

“That’s our mage and my old friend, Merric”, Marth said, and gestured at the small figure who had waved at him. The mage’s hair was the color of a pine, and almost as pointy - Minerva had recognized him immediately. His wind magic was an odd thing, not even the usually magic-resilient pegasi were safe from it. As far as Minerva knew, this mage was well on his way to gain a fearsome reputation of his own among Doluna’s troops. How strange, to see him so... ordinary.

“If Merric shouts something at you”, Marth continued lightheartedly, “it’s always best to duck and hope for the best. He recognizes all kinds of magic tomes, and knowing what it is attacking you makes you better prepared. Might save your life, even. Better study up what all the magic terms mean, because the first few times Merric yelled such things, I had no idea what it had to do with me, and I almost got burnt.”

Marth chuckled and rested one hand on his hip. His untroubled expression shone of pride as he continued gesturing at the other people around the fire.

“The ones closest to Merric is Draug, my most hardened knight, and Darros, a pirate we picked up on Talys.”

Minerva could hardly have missed Draug – the man was a giant. As his name was spoken, Draug looked up from the stew he was cooking and lifted the ladle in a careful wave.

“Those are our main muscles”, Marth continued, pointing at the remaining soldiers in the circle. “That’s Barst, Bord and Cord, they’re mercenaries led by Ogma, over there you see – and they’re loyal to princess Caeda.”

Minerva arched her brow. “That’s your flier.”

“Sure is.”

That came as a surprise. Minerva rummaged through her messy thoughts, tried to remember if she’d ever heard of a _princess_ Caeda. Nothing. Should she guess, then? What kingdom other than Macedon could have raised someone who moved through the skies like she was born of wind and flame?

“Caeda is the princess heir of Talys”, Marth continued, before Minerva had any chance to embarrass herself. “A gracious host, just like her father. And a good friend. We’ll have you two say a proper hello to her later.”

Marth stepped away from the campfire, gestured at Minerva and Maria to follow. They continued sliding past soldiers of all kinds, but had to stop as they almost stepped into a horse, right in between two tents.

“That’s... An interesting placement for sure”, Marth mumbled. The animal gave a short snort and turned its head toward them, ears pointing at Maria.

“Hello, little lovely one”, Maria cooed and stepped forward, giving it a careful scratch behind the mane. The horse gave her a friendly nudge, and Maria let out a laugh. From the left of them, three knights in full armor walked around the corner of the closest tent, bowls of soup in their hands. The one in the middle looked up and was clearly startled by the sight of Marth.

“My liege— Ah, I am so sorry! I meant to move him as soon as I got back!”

Marth simply shrugged and smiled as the knight stumbled toward his horse. The knight was armored in a way that was a polar opposite to the mellow colors of Abel – everything had a tint of red, just like Minerva’s armor, and he had hair like autumn leaves. Even his eyes held a hint of dawn inside them. He could have been mistaken for a Macedonan royal, if one didn’t look too closely.

He grabbed his horse by the reins, a bit taken aback by the sight of Maria standing on the other side of the horse’s neck.

“He’s _lovely_ ”, Maria beamed at him.

“Um— Yes, yes he is”, the knight said, smiled sheepishly and began to lead the horse away.

“These are my three loyal knights from Altea”, Marth introduced them. “The lovely horse belongs to Cain.”

Cain turned around at the sound of his name, and taking a proper look at Marth’s two followers, his eyes finally landed on Maria’s golden diadem.

“Your highnesses!” he greeted with a clumsy bow, before he continued leading the horse away to the makeshift stables.

“I believe you both already met Abel”, Marth chuckled, and the green knight bowed with considerably more grace than his comrade, despite holding a full bowl of soup. “Pleasure to meet you two again, your highnesses.”

Maria answered with a playful courtesy, while Minerva could only smile and give him a nod. The amount of unfamiliar faces around her was near overwhelming, so the sight of Abel eased her mind somewhat.

Marth pointed at the last of the three knights, someone much older than the other two. His armor was of a more neutral appearance, a grayish, blue tint, like ice.

“And this is Frey, our veteran that keeps the other two under control.”

Frey smiled. “I do my best, sire.”

Marth gave his shoulder a friendly pat, before they left the knights to eat their dinner in peace.

 

They walked for a few more minutes before Marth stopped again.

“Maria, this is our healer’s tent.” He opened the tent flap. Inside, an old man mixed herbs with patient movements.

“Hello, newcomers”, he croaked. His head trembled slightly as he looked up to greet them. He must have been well over seventy. “My name is Wrys.”

Maria’s eyes shone as she pointed at one of the plants. “You have silence-sprouts?”

“Ah, yes.” The old man smiled. “I picked plenty in Aurelis, it’s quite common there.”

“So you’re making a salve to reverse magic damage?”

“Someone knows a thing or two. A fellow Earth magician, I take it?” The old man lifted the bowl of salve in their direction, with a gentle smile at Maria. “Would you like to stay, so I can teach you how to make it?”

“ _Would_ I?” Maria entered the tent without much else, but stopped and glanced at Minerva. “You two go ahead. I think this will bore you, sister.”

Minerva had to blink away tears, for reasons she couldn’t entirely understand. “Oh, I haven’t been bored in ages. I think I’d love to be.”

“You could stay if you like”, Marth said and put a hand on Minerva’s shoulder. “Although, I’d like to exchange a few more words with you.”

Minerva’s spirits faltered slightly.

“I suppose we do have some things to discuss”, she nodded. She tried to sound casual, but she dreaded what Marth would say when he wasn’t keeping up an appearance in front of his troops.

But she trusted him. Strange, how easy it was to do so.

They left Maria in the company of the old healer, her face shining as she looked through the League’s collection of different herbs and staves.

 

Minerva and Marth walked on in silence for a while, before stopping at the outskirts of the camp. The evening wind whipped at their faces, to Minerva a refreshing reminder of the feeling of flight. Marth seemed to enjoy it as well, he stood with his eyes closed, let the breeze stroke his midnight blue forelocks out of his face.

It was Minerva that broke the silence.

“I really am sorry for trying to kill you, Marth.”

The prince laughed quietly.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You weren’t the first.” He smiled and scratched the side of his face. “Not many have come so close _twice_ , though.”

“Twice?” Minerva gave him a small, mischievous grin. “I wasn’t serious about the second time, you know. I could have killed you, had I wanted to.”

Marth let out a jesting scoff and turned his face toward her. “Oh? Perhaps I could have countered you – had _I_ wanted to.”

Minerva breathed out in a laugh and crossed her arms. “Good thing our interests coincide, then.”

She looked to the side, and her smile died away. Had Caeda arrived a moment later at Aurelis castle, Marth wouldn’t be having this conversation. And Maria would still be hanging by a Dolunan thread. The thought chilled her. She bit down on the inside of her lip, and looked back on the prince.

“Marth, in all sincerity”, Minerva said. “I have done nothing to deserve your alliance, only been in your way. My loyalty was never with Doluna, but still I... I wished you gone. I protected what I could – yet I realize that a simple apology can never make up for all the grief I caused you.”

Marth turned serious as well, looked up to the sky with his arms resting along his sides.

“In war, we kill for our own sake”, he said. “We fight for what lies closest to us. I can’t judge you for your actions.”

She recognized his genuine tone, but Minerva still felt his words like a jab in her chest. She blinked hard, tried to choke that pain down.

“Regardless, you must think of me as awfully selfish”, she whispered.

“Not really.” Marth gazed out over the field. Their surroundings hid in the darkness of dusk, more for each minute passing. “Nothing is simple, especially not when your heart is torn in two. I know it, myself.”

He stood silently for a moment, removed the circlet he carried. “I too, have a sister. Her name’s Elice.” He stared intently at the circlet in his hands. “This used to be hers, but she noticed how much I liked it when we were children, and gave it to me as a gift.” He brushed his fingers along the golden edge.

Minerva read his silence well enough, but she still peered at him uncertainly.

“She’s... not in this army, is she?”

Marth drew a deep breath, shook his head.

“No. She isn’t.” He stood quietly for a moment longer, before continuing: “Elice was at home with me and my mother when the enemy came to wipe the world clean from Altean nobles. I don’t know what became of her, but I _do_ know that given the chance, I would now give my very _life_ to make sure she was safe. But chances are, it is much too late for that.”

“Marth, that’s— I had no idea—“

Marth tensed his shoulders, closed his hands around the circlet as if seeking whatever comfort he could.

“She chose it”, he said, but it was clear that those words didn’t bring him much consolation. “Elice stayed, to try to protect our mother, to give me a chance to flee with my knights.” His eyes darted to the ground, and he slowly placed the circlet over his head again. “I was close to rushing back to her, you know. I was only twelve, iron sword in hand, against hundreds of soldiers. I knew I’d die, but I was so furious and focused on Elice, I didn’t care. Someone threatened to hurt her, and I would have done anything to keep her out of it. But our old councillor Malledus stopped me. He held me back as I thrashed against him, telling me that my life was not mine to throw away. My father was dead, my sister was trapped and I was the only one left to wield Falchion. You know, the Blade of Light, Hope of the World, all that.” His hand made a waving motion, like he was pretending to hold a sword, but his face was still severe.

“I was told I was a prince before a son or brother.”

Minerva stood silent for a few drawn out seconds, regarded the prince beside her as he shrunk down further.

“The world is disturbingly cruel”, she finally said.

“It is.” Marth eyes seemed to shimmer in the darkness, and he turned his face away. “I’ve lost more than I could possibly count. The same day as Altea fell, my father’s friend and our most veteran fighter Jagen donned my cape to lead the enemy away from me, knowing he’d die. It didn’t matter that I cried at him to stop, because once again I was told that my life wasn’t mine. Jagen was the first to die in my name, and certainly not the last. I am filled with so much remorse and regret when I think of it, but I obeyed the wishes of my peers, and continued my flight to safety in Talys.”

Minerva had not been ready for this. She’d never met someone so openhearted, certainly not someone that still so recently had carried the brand of ‘ _enemy_ ’ in her mind.

“I’m very sorry”, was all that she could think to say. She bit her lip, stood in thoughtful silence for a bit longer. She felt as though she should give something _back_ , since Marth had shared so much with her.

“It was my own brother that put the knife at Maria’s throat”, she finally said, uncertainly. “He... knew I wouldn’t approve of his plans to expand our nation. I wasn’t prepared for such cruelty, but perhaps the world had fared better if I had had the same strength as you within me.”

“Don’t say that, please.” Marth wiped his eyes and smiled weakly at her. “Sacrificing both yourself and your sister would not have benefitted anyone but Doluna. This may sound strange, but if anyone had to lead the fearsome Dragoons into war, I’m glad it was someone like you. Though I’m sorry about your brother. I don’t think I can imagine myself facing the same. This is... not what the world was meant to be.”

Minerva only stared blankly into the air in front of her.

“I sometimes feel like there’s no hope left”, Marth continued. “In my darker moments. But what I’ve learned from this six-year disaster is that we have to always try to trust, or we’ll truly be lost. We cannot win ourselves back without a stable foundation, so we cannot let ourselves be corrupted – and we _will_ be if we don’t give our fellow kin a second chance. Even though we can’t always know what choices will turn out right and which will turn out wrong, I believe we can only follow our hearts and pray to the divines that all will turn out well.”

"Is everyone deserving of that chance, then?"

"In the best kind of world, I'd say yes. I know what war requires, and I realize there are people who don't want that chance, and people who have wronged me that I do not want to give it to. Nevertheless, I will always try to see what good could exist, what we all could gain. And if it ends badly, the sorrow will always be the same." They looked at each other then, one a soldier born, and the other, a diplomat donning the cape of a commander.

“We’re very different, I think”, Minerva whispered finally, but Marth only smiled again.

“Oh, no. On the contrary, I think we may be very similar.”

They fell into silence again, with Minerva not knowing what she should respond.

 _Always try to trust people_.

The stars might be easier to pluck down from the heavens. Minerva had trusted her family to be true, to be safe, but she could never do that again.

 _Never_.

Though family besides, Marth had a point, and she would try. With these new allies, she wanted nothing else. But it felt like an impossible obstacle when the ones she knew she could always rely on were gone. Now that Maria’s freedom had allowed Minerva to feel her heart again, it truly wasn’t whole. Not without Palla. Not without her Whitewings.

“Sire”, she began unsurely. “We wouldn’t happen to pass by Grust in the near future, would we?”

Marth had stared out over the dark plain, but craned his neck at the sound of her voice. He looked at her with a slight frown. “No, I cannot say that we are. Archanea hasn’t yet settled to Doluna’s rule, and is our priority. But please tell me if there’s something I should know?”

“It is about my, ah, my friends... Perhaps you remember that I had three Pegasus knights with me during our first encounters.”

“Ah, yes, your Whitewing order!” Marth smiled wide. “I had the pleasure of meeting one of them on the Pyrathi Islands! Her name was Catria, I believe. Had it not been for her, I doubt I’d be here with you, now.”

Minerva felt her heart grow warm, but there was also an ice remaining inside her. An ice, that spewed cold and silent curses at Doluna, at everything that had forced them apart.

“Doluna sent them to Grust”, she explained. “That is, if that gods-forsaken general told me the truth. But if my Whitewings knew Maria and I was safe, they’d join your ranks in a heartbeat. They hold as much love for Doluna as I do.”

“That does sound like a remarkable gain”, Marth said. “I wish I could freely assist in finding them, but I don’t think it possible to stray so far from our planned path.” He pulled his cloak closer around him, and looked at Minerva with his smile still wide. “But have faith. We’ll have to face Grust eventually, and when we do, I will bear your Whitewings in mind.”

“I couldn’t ask for more, your highness.”

Marth gave her a final smile before he burrowed himself tighter inside his cloak and turned to gaze out over the plains again. Minerva tried her best to do the same, tried to stop her mind from falling into the familiar spiral.

_Palla... I’ll see you soon. I swear it. Wait for me._

She wished she could imagine her before her mind’s eye again, but there was nothing. Her thoughts only created exhausted jolts of incoherence – a whiff of moss-green, a smile on the sparring ground, a scarred hand reaching for a bandage. The warmth of an embrace.

Minerva blinked hard, and glanced toward the prince again. He was still burrowed to his chin in his cloak, but he held his hands outside of it. Rubbed the fabric of his cloak over a shimmering, metallic surface. Minerva squinted and carefully leaned closer.

“That doesn’t seem like a very effective shield”, she said.

The prince lifted the piece of metal, and she could now see that it was a crest, it’s etched bronze shining its own light, even though sun had set.

“Well, it isn’t, really”, he said, tilting the crest so Minerva could see it properly. “Its purpose isn’t to protect from strikes from a sword. This is the Fire Emblem.”

“Oh— _The_ Fire Emblem?”

“There aren’t many others, to my knowledge”, Marth smiled, rubbing his thumb over the top of the crest.

“I thought it was supposed to be burning with an unquenchable flame”, Minerva frowned, and just barely contained her compulsion to poke at the emblem to feel if it would burn her.

“I thought so too”, Marth said, and continued polishing the blueish tints that had begun to corrupt the bronze. “I suppose it’s good that it’s not. I like it better, this way. Less glaring, I’d imagine.”

Being in possession of Hauteclare, which was something beyond human understanding, Minerva shouldn’t be so awestruck. But the Fire Emblem was different from a weapon – it was an Archanean royal symbol, a bringer of good fortune and a key to almost any magic lock. It had carried the blessing from the Archanean royal family during the first dragon war a millennia ago, and had since been a dormant, mythical symbol. Not something she’d expect to find in the prince of a fallen kingdom’s possession.

As if sensing Minerva’s burning question, Marth looked up on her with a smile. “Princess Nyna blessed me with it when she made me champion of her Archanean League. Right after we reclaimed Aurelis castle, you know.”

“Yeah, I heard you did that.”

Marth snorted a laugh, and Minerva couldn’t help smiling too. What did the pain it had caused her matter now. She aimed to put that in the past. If only she could see the Whitewings in good health, she should be able to live for the future again.

“The Fire Emblem hasn’t seen much use in the latest centuries”, Marth continued. “But Nyna was thoughtful and gave it to me. We needed all the good fortune we could get. A great honor, to be sure.”

Minerva was about to smile and nod, but she couldn’t help the feeling of uneasiness inside her. It wasn’t long since she’d been an enemy of all Marth represented, and now he stood calmly in front of her with the most valued treasure in the known world.

 _We should try to trust people_ , he’d said. But this might be too much. Who knew what Doluna would do to get their hands on the emblem? There was a fine line between trust and death.

“It’s stunning”, she said, but she did not smile. “I’d advise you keep it safe from unwanted hands.”

Marth caught on to the tone in her voice, and stopped his polishing. He looked down on the emblem, his lips a thoughtful line. “I carry it with me wherever I go. I hope that is enough.”

“I hope so, too.”

Marth put the emblem back onto his back, hidden beneath his cloak, then rested his hands on his hips.

“Well”, he said, although it sounded more like a content sigh. “It was nice to have a breather. No more time to rest now, though. The sun has set. It’s time for our war council.”

“I suppose I better take my leave, then”, Minerva said.

Marth raised a brow at her. “You don’t wish to come?” He pointed at himself, his eyebrows still arched in confusion. “It’s for us nobles. You may not be ruling anything at the moment, but neither are the others of us. The more thinking heads, the better. And you, if anyone, have an experience with the ways Doluna wages war.”

Minerva just looked at him uncertainly. “Ah— I’d like to, but I just thought—“

“Oh, good!” Marth waited no longer before he put a hand on her shoulder, and it would be rude to stay still while he began to walk back toward the camp. “We’re passing through the healer’s tent as well. Everyone of royal descent is attending; it would be wrong to leave Maria out of it.”

 _We’ve only just met you_ , Minerva thought as she stumbled along. _You’re a bloody madman_.

But she couldn’t help a small smile escaping her as she fell into step with the prince, heading for the gentle light of the healer’s tent.


	34. War Council

“This is where we plan our next strategies.” Marth showed Minerva and Maria inside a small, crowded tent. “Please, feel right at home.”

Marth slid past them, but Minerva stayed by the opening, Maria behind her back with the tent flap over her shoulders.

Minerva eyed the room in a sweeping motion. Dozens of small lanterns illuminated the faces of those present, cast flickering shadows over a map of the continent spread out over a table – or rather a plank of wood on top of a boulder. Nothing was nearly as posh as inside the tent of a Dolunan General, but despite the tattered appearance, the people within stood both proud and confident as they turned their faces toward the newcomers.

Marth took his place beside the eldest of the council. An old man with his shrivelled hands around a magnificent recovering staff, and his heavy gaze on Minerva.

“My prince.” The old man hugged the staff tighter as he greeted Marth, his eyes darting away from Minerva. “We’re all glad that our risks paid off, and that we gained such powerful allies thanks to your efforts – but you must understand that I can hardly be outspoken in my support of having the princesses of an _enemy nation_ hear our plans.”

Minerva’s feet felt heavy. A long time had it passed since she had been looked upon with a smile by anyone other than her sister and the Whitewings, so she wasn’t at all surprised to hear she wasn’t welcomed. She hadn’t expected to ever be, again. Yet it still tugged at her throat.

“Malledus, be at ease”, Marth said with a trouble-free smile at the old man by his side. “I’ve made my judgement.”

 _Malledus_. Minerva did remember Marth mention his kingdom’s old councillor by that name during their earlier conversation.

“Young prince”, Malledus insisted. “I trust you have thought this trough, I really do, but regardless—“

“I can vouch for the Macedonans.” It wasn’t Marth that spoke, instead, a figure on the other side of the old man Malledus. He'd stood with his hands clasped in front of his chin, but when he straightened to look up at Minerva he revealed a familiar smile. “The Dragoon and I have fought on the same side before.”

This dared Minerva to step closer in a simple courtesy, with Maria curiously peeking over her shoulder.

“Greetings, Prince Hardin.”

The smile tugged wider on the Aurelian prince’s face, and he bent his head with two fingers over his lips. Minerva recognized that greeting from when she’d first met him, in the outskirts of her Macedonan army camp, a few months ago. Back then, he’d been dressed in simple leather armor. This time, he made the room shine as the light reflected off his gold and green attire, his hair expertly held in place by multiple layers of fabric, with a great golden jewel at the front.

“So”, Prince Hardin said with an amused tone, “you don’t seem surprised to see me like this. Did you perhaps know who I was, even when we first met?”

“I did”, Minerva answered him. “And you made sure I couldn’t forget about you, either.”

Hardin chuckled quietly. “I cannot say I gave you much peace of mind, no. Although, fighting back against invaders is in every kingdom’s interests. Nothing personal, Dragoon.”

Marth raised his brows. “Why, this sounds like an exciting story. You have to fill us in on this, Prince Hardin. Please, Minerva, Maria, come join us. It gets cold if the tent flap is held open so long.”

Maria took Minerva’s hand and hugged it tightly. Minerva glanced one last time on each of the faces present, assessing if they would be a danger to her if she came closer.

Closest to her was Marth. He still had his gentle smile – not even Minerva’s overactive senses could be alarmed by him.

Next to him was Malledus, who still regarded her with some skepticism, but he kept his lips pursed tightly to refrain from speaking.

Beside Malledus was a young woman, regal beyond doubt, almost shimmering of an awe-inspiring aura. Minerva could figure out immediately that this was the Archanean princess heir, Nyna. Her face was unreadable, surrounded by the hair that fell down her back like a cloak of spun gold and silver. There was no way for Minerva to figure out what Nyna’s impassive gaze on her meant, so she quickly moved her eyes to Prince Hardin, standing next to the Archanean princess.

Prince Hardin had set himself close to Nyna, his shoulder angled as to defend her left side, even when he stood relaxed and smiled at Minerva. He had the hint of crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes, the face of a familiar friend.

And finally, the circle was complete by the flier who had ravaged the Dolunan battlefields like a demon, the one who had caused mortal wounds to Est, the very one who guarded Marth’s life more than she seemed to guard her own. Caeda, the princess of Talys.

It surprised Minerva that this particular princess didn’t stare her down with a glare of death and hatred, as she’d used to. Instead, Caeda gave a welcoming smile, albeit a bit wary.

Minerva stepped into the circle beside Caeda, while attempting an answering smile – but her lips only twitched slightly. Her face was still difficult to move in front of strangers.

“Well, as Marth suggests, I suppose I shall try to explain”, Prince Hardin began, as soon as Minerva and Maria joined the circle around the map-table. “I met the Macedonan First General in the outskirts of her camp on Aurelia Plains, about three months ago. I was desperate to get princess Nyna out of Castle Aurelis before the troops hit us, and as the rest of you already know, I had her sneak out with some of my knights. But to lessen the chance of them getting spotted, I myself went inside the advancing Macedonan military camp to create a diversion, just as Nyna passed them by.”

Prince Hardin smiled again and drummed his fingers along his chin. The lights of the lanterns gave his brown skin a deep glow.

“I wasn’t too sure what to do at first; I just wanted a big enough distraction. But the same morning, it had come to my knowledge that my people were being raided outside of the Macedonan marches, by deserters. It pained me to know this, and I did what my heart told me. I went into the camp in disguise and pleaded to them for help. hough I thought for sure I’d have to flee with arrows sticking out of my back – I didn’t dare to hope that help would actually be provided. But to my delight, I was proved wrong. And so, Princess Nyna fled successfully to the safety of the northern fortresses, and the deserters were ended. Most of them by the Crimson Dragoon herself.”

Minerva was suddenly the center of everyone’s gazes again, but her footing wasn’t stable.

“I’d prefer to not hear that name”, she protested weakly. “It rings of too much darkness.”

“Ah. My apologies, princess.” Prince Hardin cleared his throat. “Won’t hear it from me again. But if you don’t mind me asking – why would you trust an Aurelian stranger, in the middle of leading an invasion?”

Maria followed the conversation with keen interest, and her eyes finally landed on Minerva, who could only stare back at her in thoughtful silence.

 _Why indeed?_ Because she wanted an excuse to get away from her title as First General? Because she couldn’t tolerate Macedonans pillaging, without regard for her orders? Because somewhere inside the desperate Crimson Dragoon, there had still lived a mere child of thirteen years, proud to stand up for those who could not?

“I wanted the deserters to hang for their cruelty”, she answered flatly, carefully moving her gaze back on prince Hardin. “My army never touched a village that wasn’t already a battlefield, and I wouldn’t let them sully what little honor we had left. As for why I trusted you, I suppose I thought I could take you on, if it turned out your plea was a trap.”

Prince Hardin arched his brows and smiled slightly. “I suppose I thought the opposite. In fact, I half expected it to end in a brawl, one way or another. But you knew who I was, yet when I fled the scene, you did not pursue? I must admit, you much surprised me, princess.”

Minerva shrugged, her thoughts still cautious. “I had no quarrel with you then, Prince Hardin. I did what I was told, and that was never to end the Aurelian royal line. Just to take the castle.”

 _And princess Nyna_ , she filled in for herself. But there was no need to speak of such things – what Doluna wished for was none of her concern, anymore. She was oddly grateful for her earlier failures, now.

“Apologies, but I don’t feel particularly convinced”, Malledus put in, his gaze intently resting on Hardin. “Any general can hunt deserters and let enemies go.”

“I’d say the same”, Prince Hardin shot back, “but I don’t think _any_ General with Dolunan values would lay down her weapons to save an Aurelian child.”

Minerva’s hand prickled inside Maria’s as a cold shiver travelled down her neck. She shoved the unwelcome memories of a child’s terrified face aside, bit down on the cruel reminder of helplessness. She couldn’t lose her focus, not now. She wouldn’t let herself break down, but her gaze shivered as Malledus once again opened his mouth to speak.

“As fascinating as this story is”, the princess Nyna’s voice rang along the circle of nobles, “we’re losing valuable time. Malledus, the Macedonan princesses are our allies, and shall remain here. I suggest we move on.”

Nyna’s eyes landed on the old councilman to the left of her. She stood so straight and composed, but in that icy gray sparked a thundercloud.

Malledus slowly closed his half-open mouth, and nodded slowly. “Of course, your highness.”

Nyna nodded back, and placed her hand on the center of the map on the table, focused her gaze on Minerva. “Princess Minerva, princess Maria, allow me to fill you in – we’ve taken a slight detour, but our goal still is to retake my mother kingdom and reclaim the Millennium Court.”

That name rang a distant bell in Minerva’s memory.  _Millennium Court_. The Archanean royal palace was ageless and holy, and was known by many names. Most of them were lost to history, but the _Court of Millennia_ was what the Archaneans themselves preferred to call the house of their nobles.

Four months had passed since Minerva had walked through its halls, her boots stained by the blood of its defeated people. She hadn’t allowed her heart to bleed, then. Nothing she could have done, she’d told herself.  _That’s not the case, now_ , her thoughts whispered to her.

“We’re nearing one of my kingdom’s distinguished trading cities”, princess Nyna continued. “It’s called Knorda, and it was our greatest stronghold. The ground around it has been altered to make breaching it unnoticed nigh impossible, and our new invention, the ballisticans, used to be perched there day and night.”

Ballista. A curse to any flier – it was a wooden contraption that could launch a projectile much further than even the strongest bow. Doluna had avoided dispatching Macedon’s armies anywhere near Archanea’s ballisticans, but Minerva had met her fair share regardless. In most of her encounters with them, dumb luck was the reason she still lived.

“I do not know what exactly awaits us”, Nyna concluded and curled her fingers over the map, “but in order to advance any further toward the capital, we must clear Knorda of their Dolunan forces. From what our scouting troops tell us, the market is currently kept under close and vicious control by a manakete known as Khozen.”

“ _Khozen_.” Minerva could not keep herself from repeating the name in a toneless whisper, and once again everyone looked toward her. She stared out into nothingness, unable to meet even Marth’s or Maria’s eyes.

_This is too much, it was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have come here—_

“Are you familiar with this enemy, princess?” Prince Hardin asked her, special emphasis on _princess_.

“I am”, Minerva breathed. Her mouth was so dry, the memory of pain flashing before her. “Khozen is one of Emperor Medeus’ closest commanders. He’s called the Great General among the Dolunan forces, feared even among his fellow manakete.”

The circle stood quiet.

“Fantastic”, Caeda finally said. “See it as a chance to show Doluna that we can take on even the greatest of theirs.” She put a hand on Minerva’s shoulder, and Minerva looked up with a jolt.

“Princess, if you have anything at all in terms of battle strategy we can throw at him, we’ll be grateful to have you share it.”

Minerva stared back at her. Her eyes shimmered blue, like the ocean around Macedon’s coast, and it calmed Minerva’s unnerved senses for a blessed, still moment.  _She trusts me?_ The thought almost made tears smart in the corner of Minerva’s eyes, left her speechless. _After all I have done...?_

Caeda smiled discreetly, her gaze attentive and genuine. _We have a common goal_ , she seemed to say.

Minerva opened her mouth, but no proper sound came.

“I... Khozen, he’s...”

Her throat clogged, and she looked away, down on the map. She felt Maria hug her arm tighter, but she couldn’t move to look at her.

Minerva had longed for the day she could pay Khozen back for his cruel methods, for her pain, for her soldier’s suffering, for the countless souls who had left their life far too early because of him.  _I will kill all of you given the chance_ , she’d thought as she’d stared into Khozen’s twisted sneer. That had been less than two months ago. But if that meant that these people of the League – that _Maria_ – might be threatened by Khozen, she’d rather stay clear of him.

“What should we make of this unwillingness, princess?” Malledus asked, his frown deepening.

In a heartbeat, Minerva let go of Maria and slammed both her hands down on the makeshift table. It wasn’t with much force – at least she hadn’t thought it was – but it still rocked toward her. She didn’t care, her gaze was fixed on Malledus.

“It _means_ ”, she said with as little anger in her voice as she could muster, “that I do not wish for you to take Khozen lightly, your lordship.”

She caught Marth raising a brow at her, but as far as she could tell, there was no disapproval in his expression.

“Even in human form, the size of Khozen matches this entire tent”, Minerva continued, her voice close to cracking. “Like all manakete, he holds no regard for human life, and given the chance, he will not hesitate on crushing us. He prefers to have human soldiers and lesser manakete do the work for him, so I have never had the displeasure of seeing him in a transformed, fighting state. But from what I hear, he can devastate an entire town in a breath. Alone, no soldier could best him. Our only chance is to attack from multiple directions at once. Even then, I’m unsure what the cost would be.”

Caeda leaned on the table with one arm, and it nearly tipped over. She tilted her head and looked at Minerva.

“Point taken”, she said thoughtfully. She turned her gaze on Nyna, and her mouth thinned with determination. “But we have no other choice. If we wait, our fight will only be more difficult. It is now, or never, whatever the cost.”

Caeda’s words landed like a solemn blanket over the council. The only unaffected was Marth, who merely tapped his fingers along his chin and hummed quietly.

“Last time we fought a manakete we had Merric hide behind Draug”, Marth thought out loud. “It was a close call, but they did it. Would that work this time?”

Minerva recoiled a little at his words. They’d fought a manakete, and lived to tell the tale? The first she’d heard about it. The Archanean League had more courage and prowess than she’d dared to hope.

“If this manakete is stronger than the last, I doubt it”, Caeda answered Marth. “We could ask of Merric and Draug to use their skills again, but there has to be more. Any thoughts?”

Hardin placed his hands behind his head, stretched his back. “We’ve overcome many other hardships thus far. I have faith in my knights, as I have in all of you. I’ll lend you the strength of my people, and if that is for us to fight this beast head-on, then so be it.”

“Always appreciated”, Marth said, but his voice was slightly cautious. “Although, rushing him from every direction could be too disorganized, we’d be left vulnerable. I’d say that we need a specific Dragon Killing-squad. I do not want to force anyone, but I fear it might be necessary. Would anyone be _willing_ to be part of that, knowing it may very well end them?”

Caeda stood straighter, rested her hands behind her back. “As long as it may help ensure our victory, I’ll personally take a place in it. And I have no doubts that others share my feelings on the matter.”

 _Ensure the victory_ , Minerva’s thoughts echoed. Her heart turned to steel, her vision tunnelling as she too straightened and looked right at Marth. _Doluna... shall know fear._

“I am more than happy to be in that squad as well”, Minerva said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “We’ve got some bad blood, Khozen and I.”


	35. Shining Stars

As they left the council tent, Minerva was tempted to just lay right down on the ground and sleep for years. Her muscles smarted for every step she took, her joints ached and complained. Her head spun in a slow, rhythmical daze – trying to understand what exactly had transpired at the council, and failing.

She longed for the bedding furs that awaited her. This would be the first night she slept without Dolunan allies surrounding her, and it should be a relief. But her heart still hammered, telling her that she couldn’t relax, that the danger was everywhere. She’d given up in her fruitless efforts to convince it otherwise.

“That was exciting”, Maria said and hugged Minerva’s arm as they walked. “I’ve never been in a council meeting before! Too bad I couldn’t contribute much.”

Maria had never attended a council with their father. She’d been too young, not yet thirteen, which had been their father’s required maturity to attend. The mist of grief, always present, got low enough to dampen Minerva’s spirits. She was too tired to resist it.

“This one was solely war council”, Minerva tried to console Maria. “Had it been one of father’s royal meetings, you would have contributed lots. We used to discuss trade, taxes, public health... Things that you understood better than me. I usually thought it wasn’t too exciting, but it was necessary.”

Maria leaned her head on Minerva’s arm as they walked. “You think we’ll ever have one of those again?”

Another question that caused so much hurt.

Minerva had said to Marth what she truly wished for. A chance to set things right. Set Macedon free from the horror of war, and its new infamous reputation.  
But the world was too big, every emotion too strong. She couldn’t see how it would ever be possible.

“The future is like a tangle of uncertainty for me”, she answered slowly. “I haven’t... I haven’t even thought of what would become of us if there ever is peace. I had no real room in my mind for it. All that ever mattered to me was that you were safe.”

Maria gave her a smile, but it trembled at the edges. “I am, now.”

Minerva gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Yeah.”

There were so many words of gratitude she still could have voiced, so many melodies of praise inside her, but she couldn’t will herself to utter them, knowing she couldn’t possibly give it justice with her exhausted mind.

Maria didn’t say anything else, either. She walked along silently, with her head bent and eyes on her feet. Minerva didn’t think much of it – Maria had to be tired too.

 

They stopped in front of Maria’s small tent, one that they’d briefly been introduced to before their small trip around the camp. It had held another soldier before. A soldier that hadn’t survived one of the League’s many battles.

Maria didn’t move as to enter. Her head was still bent, and she whispered something without looking at Minerva.

“What?” Minerva asked gently, sensing Maria’s discomfort. Maria turned her head away, but spoke louder.

“I am sorry for being a burden.”

Minerva was sure being crushed by a wyvern would be less painful. She took hold of Maria and turned her toward her, perhaps harsher than she meant to.

“What are you _saying_?”

Maria’s eyes sparkled with tears, only shook her head. Her lip trembled.

Minerva’s words were let out like silent gasps. “Maria, listen – none of what happened is your fault, _none_ of it, you hear me?”

“No! It _is_!” Maria’s voice was shrill, that of a child, and her head snapped back to focus her teary eyes on Minerva. “I should have understood sooner! I could have _done_ something, fought back – _anything_. But I never did – I’m too weak, I’m not like you, I’m not Michalis, I’m just... I’m just _me_!”

“Maria...” Minerva’s throat tightened. “Fighting Zharov, and Doluna... They would have killed you.”

Maria’s eyes flashed angrily. “Well then at least _you_ would have been free!”

Minerva couldn’t feel her own heart beating. Her head fell, bent so that she all she saw was the ground. She still held on to Maria’s shoulders. Couldn’t will her body to move away. Couldn’t will herself to speak.

All she saw was the ground.

“I wouldn’t be”, Minerva whispered finally. “That would be a prison without escape. Nothing would ever... How could you... How can you say such things...”

Maria sobbed quietly, droplets falling into the grass beneath Minerva’s eyes.

“I’m sorry”, Maria hiccupped. “I’m sorry, I know... I... I just feel so useless...” She forced herself free of Minerva’s cramp-like grip on her shoulders and puzzled herself into Minerva’s stiff arms instead. Minerva’s body responded automatically by embracing her back, feeling her own tears form again.

“Why?” Maria sobbed into her arms. “Why did this happen?”

Minerva only shook her head, as best she could while squeezing her face between her own arm and Maria’s shoulder. They stood perfectly still like that, save for Minerva rocking Maria slightly. A familiar stiff ache spread over Minerva’s back as she moved. She wrinkled her face, but fought to ignore it, continued to sway to a steady rhythm, listening to how Maria’s uncontrolled sobs turned into uneven hiccups.

“None of it is our fault, Maria”, Minerva finally whispered. “I promise you.”

“Still feels... like it is...”

“I know. Trust me, I’ve felt the same. I have thought of little else than what I could have done differently, to prevent all this.”

Maria snivelled, angling her head to a more comfortable position on Minerva’s shoulder.

“I just wish I could have been as strong as you”, she whispered.

A thick chuckle escaped Minerva. “My little candle. Here I wish I could have even half of _your_ strength. I had Palla, I had Catria, and Est... None of us faced this alone, but we couldn’t be there with you. We... I... _couldn’t_.” She hugged Maria tighter. “I’m... so sorry.”

“No... You were. You always were.” Maria let go, took a step back and dried her eyes. To Minerva’s relief, she had a small smile on her face when she looked back at her.

“When I was afraid, I thought of you four”, she sniffled, and her smile grew. “I sometimes thought about father too of course, but it made things sadder. So I thought of the part of my family that was alive, most of all. And after a while, I felt like you were there with me when I did. I felt a bit odd for it, but it wasn’t as scary, then. When I paced the room, I dreamed of running laps around the castle halls with Est. When I ate my food, I tried to imagine what Catria would have to say about the taste. When I heard my sentries talking, I thought of how lovely it would be to hear Palla’s voice with them; she always sounded so... nice.” Maria looked up into the night sky, moonlight reflecting off her still wet cheeks. “And I dreamed of gazing stars, with you. I could see them from my window.”

“Well”, Minerva said, her voice still thick as she bent her neck upward so she too could look at the stars. “We could do that, right now. If it counts.”

“Of course it does!” Maria said, and pointed up at a collection of the bright lights. “See, that’s the archer’s patron. I used to see it every clear winter night. You see the bow and the arm, yeah? The rest of the archer wasn’t important to the scholars, apparently – you’ll just have to imagine it, really.”

Minerva squinted and followed Maria’s finger, but she saw nothing. “No, sorry. Just a bunch of dots to me.”

“I figured you’d say that.” She heard the laughter in Maria’s voice. “It was my imaginary response from you every time. I suppose I remembered you pretty well.”

“I suppose you did.”

“Sometimes, I imagined you headbutting the sentries so hard that they sank into the ground.”

Minerva barked a sudden laugh, surprising even herself. “Now _that_ sounds like me.”

Maria smiled again, properly, the light reflecting off her small teeth. Then she looked back down.

“I still can’t believe this is true. That it’s real.” Maria lowered her gaze further, stared into the ground. “What if I were to wake now? Find out that all this was another desperate dream?” Maria’s tangled hair fell over her face, and she brushed it behind her ears, slowly, thoughtfully. Minerva leaned down in front of her to make herself level with Maria’s gaze.

“You won’t”, Minerva said. “I promise. All this is new, but its real. And it's... a good thing.”

Such an understatement, but Maria merely smiled again.

“Yeah”, Maria agreed. “It really is. I’m sorry, I suppose I’m just tired.” She threw an eye on the tent behind her. “I should try to get some sleep.”

“Sounds like a good idea”, Minerva smiled back at her. “My tent is just over there if you need anything.”

“Mm. Thank you.” Maria put her arms around Minerva again in a quick, clumsy hug. “Goodnight, sister.”

“Goodnight.”

“I really love you, you know”, Maria mumbled. “I just... wanted to tell you that, now that I... Now that I can. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t seen you much, and it doesn’t matter that the world has turned upside down. You’re the greatest big sister, and that hasn’t changed. It never will.”

Minerva rested her cheek on Maria’s head, closed her eyes. “I really love you too, little candle. Sleep well, now.”

\---

Minerva’s aching muscles finally got their rest when she lay down to sleep in her tent, although her pulse still hammered on and on as if she was in the middle of battle. She tried exhaling slowly, stroking the sides of her throat, but it still drummed under her fingers. She closed her eyes.

It would settle. Eventually.

Her insides were no longer like ice, but as she lay alone, she was far from warm. She missed hearing the still sounds of breathing beside her, the feeling of sleepy fingers clutching her hand. She missed the soft whisper of her name when she was wished good night.

 _Palla_.

Minerva longed for her so much, it hurt.

 _I wish you were here_ , she thought into the nothingness. _Please, please, be safe_.

She opened her eyes again and lay staring into the ceiling for what must have been hours before she finally fell asleep.

 

She was torn back after what felt like mere seconds, her knee slamming into her elbow as she jolted awake. Her furs and heather were damp, her linen clothes sticking to her body like a disgusting sheet, as if she’d been drowning in cold sweat. Pressure pushed at the base of her tongue, the urge to heave almost unbearable. She held back, pretty sure her heart would follow if she gave in.

She sat up, folded herself double over her knees. She couldn’t even remember what she’d dreamt.

 _Why_ , her sleep-deprived mind slurred. _Why am I like this? Why can’t I stop?_

“Palla”, she called out, a quiet squeak. But the place beside her was empty, the coldest place of them all.

She finally managed to get up and change her linen clothes into new ones, in Archanean colors that were too big for her. That was what the League had left in her tent as spares. She hung her own damp clothes to dry, hoping they’d be usable by morning.

As she had her back turned, she felt cold wind escape into the tent, and her mind screeched like an alarm. Someone had opened her tent flap. Within a moment, she grabbed Hauteclare and turned toward the entrance, axe ready to swing.

“Who—“

“It’s just me.” Maria closed the flap, hugging her own bedding furs in her arms. “Sorry.”

Minerva stood frozen within the time it took her to blink. She breathed out in a huff, and put Hauteclare away. “No, I should be the one to apologize.”

Maria smiled weakly. “You wave axes at everyone who visits you?”

“Everyone who comes inside without knocking in the middle of the night, yeah.”

“Sorry”, Maria repeated. “I... couldn’t sleep.”

“I don’t think I can, either.” Minerva straightened, but grimaced as pain shot forth over her back again. She usually didn’t notice it, but some movements still took her by surprise.

Maria frowned at her, and her eyes fixed on a spot on Minerva’s clavicle.

“You looked like you were in pain when you moved”, Maria said and squinted slightly. “Are you freshly injured? I feel stupid for not asking sooner.”

Minerva felt along where Maria’s eyes were fixed, and her fingers met with a thin line of hurting, confused skin trying its best to heal.

“It’s not fresh”, Minerva answered evadingly. “But I have plenty of recent battle scars. They’ll heal soon enough. Nothing to worry about.”

Maria blinked slowly and dropped her furs in the corner, still with her eyes on Minerva. “If it still hurts, then it might be a sign that it _isn’t_ healing properly. I could... I could help, I think. Would you let me see?”

“No need – I don’t want to bother you”, Minerva said, perhaps a bit too quickly. Maria stepped closer, her eyebrows arching into a troubled frown.

“I’d rather be awake for a little longer”, she said. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I’d love to be useful, for once.”

“It’s that, ah... I kind of don’t want you to see these”, Minerva admitted. “Palla said they looked... bad.”

“Earth magicians can’t afford to be squeamish”, Maria said, her frown softening. “Please let me see if I can do something for you. I’d really... Want to help, if I can.”

Minerva stood quietly, her gaze shivering. She didn’t want to frighten Maria. She didn’t want her to carry more of this cruel world’s burdens, didn’t want her to witness the tears of war. But the way Maria looked right at her, concerned, but still without a single doubt – Minerva couldn’t deny her this. In a way, she actually wanted Maria to know, but it was still reluctantly she turned her back to Maria and removed the too big tunic.

“Oh, _Minerva_.”

Minerva stared at the wall of the tent. “That bad?”

“Those aren’t battle scars. I’m not that inexperienced.” Maria’s voice shrank to a whisper. “What did they _do_ to you?”

Lights danced in front of Minerva’s eyes. She longed for sleep, but at the same time, she wanted to run. To scream out her anger.

“It had to be done.” Minerva angled her head to look at Maria. “They didn’t treat a princess any different. But it was worth it. They let us both live.”

“I...” Maria quieted, her face growing pale before she cleared her throat. “I’m going to lay my hand on your back. Is that all right with you?”

“Go ahead. Think you can heal it?”

“Beyond doubt. It’s all about guiding the skin, giving it ordinary elasticity and dulling the pain signals”, she said, keeping a professional tone as she put her hand on Minerva’s scars. Earth magic filled the air, and it eased Minerva’s breathing. The aches over her back spread over her skin for the sting of a moment, before the soreness left her completely, evaporated like water.

Maybe there had been a pain that never gave in, that she’d only gotten used to. The absence of it the only proof that it had existed.

“There”, Maria whispered. “Although I cannot erase the memories of them. I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“That’s all right.” Minerva dove back into her tunic, and turned to Maria again with a smile. “I know fully well that it’s not possible to alter such things with magic. But I intend to create a pile of joyful memories to lose them in. With you here, now, I believe it’s possible.”

Maria’s face brightened slightly, the dark shadows under her eyes not as distinct as they had been when she’d entered. Minerva pulled the tunic closer around her, blinking away tears she once again couldn’t fully understand.

The pride she’d felt as a First General had been a corrupting, acidulous burn.

But what she felt now was something delightful, different, and yet distantly familiar. Pride, that shone like the sun.

“Really, thank you”, she finally managed to say. “You’re an amazing magician.”

Maria let out a chuckle, rubbed her hand behind her head. “I don’t know. It isn’t much, I’m pretty sure I’m behind in my studies, compared to—“ She interrupted herself, her gaze instantly becoming distant. “—compared to what master Talia would have taught me.”

Minerva opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself when Maria frowned and shook her head.

“No. I don’t want this sorrow. I’d like to collect my own pile of bright memories, as you said it.” Her eyes found Minerva’s, and she gave a weak smile. “But being alone... was a bit much. Can I sleep here tonight?”

Minerva gently placed a hand on Maria’s shoulder. “Of course.”

Maria smiled wider, and moved to straighten out her furs on the other side of the tent, and she sat down with her face still turned to Minerva.

Minerva sat down on her own bedding furs. She was exhausted, but didn’t lie down. The way Maria bent her head and clasped her hands told how tense she was. She still had something on her mind. Even after so many years, Minerva could still read Maria's subtle signs.

“Minerva... I was thinking a lot after you left”, Maria finally said. “And I’ve come to a decision. After seeing your scars, I’m even more certain.” She paused, tilted her head back and closed her eyes as hard as she could.

“Here goes nothing”, she said through her teeth, and drew a deep breath. ”Sister... You may not think so, but I have been a burden for long enough.”

“That’s not—“

Maria opened her eyes and looked right at Minerva. “I know”, she interrupted her. “I know. But it doesn’t change how I feel. I have been nothing but fuel to this war, tinder for its flames to spread easier. That might have ended now, with you free to fight for the League, but I’m... I’m still here. I don’t... Don’t like that it makes me useless. That’s why I’m going to learn as much as I can from the healers here, and go with you into battle when we get to that Knorda market.”

Minerva sat stunned, spoke before her thoughts had caught up with her.

“No way”, she said immediately. “It’s too dangerous. Real battlefields aren’t like those in stories, Maria.”

“I’ve made up my mind”, Maria insisted, leaning forward with her hands on her crossed legs. “Ever since the day you left on your first mission as a knight, I’ve wanted to help you. I was too afraid to follow you then, but I’m not anymore! I want to stay with you! How can I ever do that if you don’t give me a chance to be strong? I’ll fight alongside you, all right? No protesting, please.”

Minerva had opened her mouth, but closed it again. Stopped to think for a moment longer.

How could she deny Maria to fight for what she believed in, to finally be given the chance to make a difference? Minerva couldn’t imagine what had passed through her head all those lonely years in her prison, but it ought to be similar to what Minerva had thought so many times.

“I’m not going to protest”, Minerva said, every word pronounced slowly. “Honestly. I’d want you to stay where it’s safe, but if you feel that strongly about it, who would I be to stop you?”

She swallowed, looked back on the shining star that was her sister. A tangled mess, dark rings under her eyes, but the glint in her gaze was far from that of the shy child she’d been.

 _You’ve grown_ , Minerva thought.

“I don’t have to like it”, she continued. “But neither can I hold you back. You... You decide what you want to do, Maria.”

Maria relaxed a little, half smiling.

“That’s a relief. I thought you’d be angry with me.”

Minerva held up a hand. “All I ask is that you be careful. If you need help, you come find me. Understood?”

“Of course”, Maria beamed. “I’d want nothing else.”


	36. Lena

The League marched on, and with their progress came Maria’s, too.

Maria kept close to the two healers of the army, Wrys and Lena, for as much as she was able. She darted to and fro, her energy and will not diminishing. If there was need of an Earth magician, she made sure to be present – to observe, discuss, practice.

 

Minerva was a bystander in those matters.

The first few days, she accompanied Maria on her walks between objectives, but there was less need of it as time went by. Where Maria had before fidgeted nervously, she now frolicked through. Where she’d walked holding Minerva’s hand, she could now wave and smile at the people she passed by.

And they would stop and wave in return.

Minerva was glad to be excessive, glad to see Maria be comfortable and beloved by almost everyone in the camp. Having the sky above her and friendly faces all around her did wonders for her thin and tattered appearance. Her face returned to a healthy glow, she danced around in her new healing garb – one that had been Lena’s spare – and she cut her hair to her chin like she’d used to as a child, with her golden diadem holding her forelocks back.

 

The first few nights, Maria slept by the entrance to Minerva’s tent, just like the very first night. She’d sleep soundly, while Minerva usually lay awake, her gaze following the tent walls that moved with the wind.

Eventually, Maria would move her bedding furs back into her own tent, and she often managed to stay there for the entire night, although she’d sometimes return and knock on Minerva’s tent. A hard flutter on the tent’s hide, moving like the ripples on a pond.

“I dreamt I was back”, she’d say when Minerva let her in. Her face empty, eyes unseeing.

Minerva would embrace her, and they’d walk around the camp, breathing the fresh night air and feeling the dew on their boots.

 _It is real_ , they would say. _This is real_.

And in time, Maria’s knocks on Minerva’s tent would almost cease completely.

 

Maria was making such progress in healing, Minerva felt like she herself was merely stepping in the same place. Maria was often busy, while Minerva wasn’t sure what to occupy herself with during the days they didn’t march. She’d take whatever jobs were needed, and perform them in silence, or she’d walk around camp looking for one.

It was difficult for her to approach unfamiliar faces; mostly she’d stand awkwardly and wait, only to slip away to avoid them in the end anyway. As for the people she recognized, Abel, Caeda, Hardin and Marth were the only ones to meet her eyes and smile, but they were usually caught up in hectic activities just like Maria.

 

Minerva couldn’t quite place the camp dynamic to begin with, either. In a way, they acted like a hive, everyone knowing their place but stepping in to help whenever there was a need. In other ways, there was seemingly little to no organization – former farm-boys sharpened spare weapons but could in the next moment be chopping vegetables, knights tended to the horses but could suddenly walk by everyone’s tent collecting laundry.

Minerva saw no logic, it wasn’t at all like what she was used to. So she stayed back. She didn’t want to isolate herself, she wished for nothing but the energy to try and break through, but her body still worried, trembled, screamed – and her thoughts never quite left her Whitewings. With the chance to finally stop and let herself listen to everything that happened within her, nodding at a fellow soldier was sometimes all she could do to communicate.

And perhaps the soldiers were grateful for it. It wouldn’t be a wonder if they were, with all what her name and face had meant before.

\---

When two weeks had gone by, the hills of Knorda could be seen from the sky.

Minerva gave Titania a chance to stretch her wings whenever she could, and they circled the treetops near their newest campsite when she noticed how close they were.

 _So soon_ , Minerva thought, eyes on the gray shapes of hills by the horizon. _Too soon_.

Whenever she thought for too long, she’d begin to doubt again. Should she try to convince Maria to stay back during battle, regardless of what she’d said? She always came to the same answer;  _No_. Such attempts wouldn’t change anything for the better.

She’d make sure Maria was safe, both in and out of battle. That was all she could do.

She steered Titania down to land, pushed her nervous thoughts away. This was a sunny early winter-day. She should let herself enjoy it, because they never lasted long. Hopefully, she could even have Maria make her company for the midday meal, out in the cold sun. Like they had in the Macedon of old, when Maria sometimes brought Minerva soft bread and dried meat to the training grounds. The two of them would sit on snow-covered logs, with cups of hot milk that steamed in the chilly air.  _Peaceful. Complete._ Perhaps this would feel the same.

Minerva smiled slightly and stroked Titania’s throat before dismounting.

“Make sure to rest”, Minerva said to her. “Long march tomorrow, I take it.”

Titania huffed in her face, but then turned away with a yawn and curled together. Minerva left her like that, her steps aiming for the healer’s tent.

 

The tent flap was closed, which usually meant that the healers were out, but Minerva dared a knock anyway. She heard steps, and hoped for a moment that it would be Maria that lifted the tent flap. But the eyes that met with hers weren’t the clear red of Iote, it was ones of earth and rain and sunrise.

“Your Highness”, Lena greeted her with a calm smile. “If you’re searching for Maria, I’m sorry to say she left a few minutes ago. There was an abscessed tooth, and she insisted to attempt to treat it on her own.”

“Oh”, Minerva forced out. “That’s… good, though.”

Lena smiled wider, her eyes half closing as she did. “Is there anything I can help you with? I’m waiting for my dear friend Julian, but until he arrives, I’ve got time.”

“Well”, Minerva said, her feet already moving to step backwards. “You guessed correctly, I was looking for Maria. If she isn't here, I will not occupy you.”

She stepped back, but then stopped. Lena didn’t close the tent flap, still with her patient smile. Minerva’s throat felt as though it slowly tied itself into a knot, but she didn’t move away.

“Actually”, she began. “Maybe there is. I would like to... To thank you. We met at Aurelis Castle, although you might not remember it—”

“Sure I do”, Lena answered her, the smile now a glint in her eye. “You almost nailed me to a tree with your axe.”

Minerva felt the flush burn under her skin.

“Um, _right_ , well—” She rubbed her forehead, trying to find the best words to voice her thoughts. “I realize that must have seemed – ah – _ungrateful_. But I just wanted you to know that I really… I really appreciated your offer to save my Whitewing. We were enemies, and yet you came to aid me. I wish I could have accepted your help.”

Lena gave a slow nod, and gestured to Minerva to enter the healer’s tent. Minerva was certain her legs would refuse, but they stepped forward, and she bent down and walked through the entrance. Inside, a great wooden lantern spread its warmth and light.

“That is nice of you, your highness”, Lena said, resting her back against the healer's table of herbs and concoctions. “However, I feel like I was at fault. My well-meaning only stalled you, and I unintentionally placed your knight in further danger. I should have thought my actions through. I had already noticed the complete lack of Earth magicians in your army. Had I healed your knight, and had she returned to your superiors with her leg shimmering in magic, you’d be marked as a traitor. I was quite surprised _you_ knew other healers can sense and see if earth magic has been practiced on someone. Then again, now that I have met your talented sister, I think I understand.”

Minerva stepped closer to the lantern; let the fire warm her freezing joints.

“I should tell you, my knight survived”, she said with her eyes on Lena.

The healer gave her a small smile. “That’s good to hear. Regardless, I should apologize for my rashness. I only caused you grief, princess.”

“Absolutely not”, Minerva objected. “Your will to help may be what saved both me and Maria. I wouldn’t have come to Marth for help if you hadn’t told me you knew about... Me and Michalis.”

Just speaking the name made her heart quiver, but her gaze held true on Lena. The healer’s smile slowly turned into a thin-lipped frown.

“If so, then I’m glad”, she said, although her expression spoke of darker feelings. “But I didn’t exactly _know_ , your highness. It was clear to me that something wasn’t right. The airs in court were always tense, but if the First General was ever brought up, the tenseness around His Majesty would be unbearable.”

Minerva looked away, stared into the lantern’s light. She hadn’t thought much about if she’d been a popular topic back in the Macedonan court. If her mind wandered to her home, the only thing that appeared was the image of Michalis wearing their father’s crown. An image that she aggressively pushed away as soon as it appeared.

“I suppose he never spoke of Maria, either”, she said, mostly to herself.

Lena walked to the lantern as well, stood beside Minerva. For a common noble to stand beside a princess in such a way – it wasn’t unheard of, but it would have been thought of as rude at her father’s court. What did that matter, now? It felt nice with such informality. Minerva’s shoulders relaxed a little.

“The king was a rare sight for me”, Lena answered her, “Only in later years was I welcomed into his inner circle. But when I was, the princess Maria was never mentioned, besides that she was upholding an important agreement with Doluna.”

Minerva bit down. “Well, in that, he was right.”

Lena sighed, the smoke from the fire fluttering from her exhale. “Truth was a rare thing at court. There were always underlying tones that I had to read. In many ways, war is simpler.” She stiffened right after she’d spoken, and turned her face away. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”

“No, I believe you”, Minerva assured her. “And I do not envy you. I haven’t seen my brother in six years, and I do not miss him.”

 _I’d rather_ never _see him again_ , her thoughts snarled, but that was an impossible dream. Sooner or later, she’d have to face him. And then, she’d be prepared.

“I’m guessing he hasn’t changed at all”, she continued. “You wouldn’t know, but maybe you could... Tell me what he’s like, now.”

Lena looked down on her hands, her face an odd mixture of emotions.

“Ah”, she begun, clenched her hands into fists and then stretched her fingers again. “Michalis, he was… He was unfaltering. His gaze was fixed on world domination, but that still caused none of his decisions to be reckless. No matter what, he made sure they were carried through, even if it meant sacrifices. The soldiers back home praised him, but I noticed the common folk grieved their dead in silence. I did what I could to have him consider all consequences, have any unnecessary deaths be avoided, but he usually wouldn’t hear it. ' _I’m keeping this kingdom together'_ , he’d say. ' _And I will bring us glory'_. Clearly, he intended to do that his way. Alone.”

 _That does sound like him_. Minerva’s thoughts dripped like venom. She closed her eyes, clutched her fists until her fingers ached.

They stood in silence for a while, before Lena suddenly spoke again.

“I feel sorry for leaving, sometimes”, Lena said. “I wanted to do my part in helping the common folk, so I stayed. But when I heard plans at court for me to marry the king, I couldn’t possibly do that anymore.”

Minerva turned her head and stared openly at Lena. This gentle soul, in union with Michalis? The thought was ridiculous.

Lena gave her a small smile in return.

“I see what you’re thinking”, she said with a sad chuckle. “I don’t think it was Michalis’ idea, although he didn’t disapprove. At times, he seemed to be more forgiving when I was around, and I suppose the inner circle thought I’d be able to calm him down. He was... growing impatient, every message he got from Doluna agitated him further. He never truly let it show, but sometimes, I think he seemed... Lost. That was when he’d narrow his control further. A lot of councilmen has died over the years, for voicing traitorous thoughts, or for disagreeing at the wrong time, or from sudden unexplainable illnesses. That was nothing new, but there was an increase in those deaths, just before I finally left the court.”

Minerva stretched her aching fingers, looked down at her whitened fingertips as the color returned to them. “Did he just let you leave, then?”

Lena let out another sad laugh. “He didn’t exactly pursue me, but I learned that he tried to have my brother tell him where I’d gone. I hadn’t confided in my brother at all – I thought that it would keep him safe, but he was still the one to be punished for my actions. He was sent to the front, even though he has never been a fighter. Thankfully, the day he was placed in his first battle, he faced _us_ – the League. I managed to speak to him, and he could safely join our side.” Lena bent her neck, slowly shaking her head. “I regretted leaving when I saw my brother’s tears. But now, I thank the divines every day that I am able to be here instead, surrounded by people I love.”

Just as she spoke, the tent flap opened.

“Lena?”

Both Minerva and Lena turned their heads. A young man had peeked inside the tent, the hood of his cloak tight around his cheeks to keep out the cold. Minerva vaguely recognized him as someone Marth had introduced as a ‘ _former thief_ ’.

“Ah, Julian”, Lena smiled. “Are you free to take something to eat, now?”

Julian nodded and threw a confused glance on Minerva. She attempted to answer with a friendly wave, similar to what Maria always did, but she had no idea if she succeeded. Lena stepped forward and took Julian’s hand with a smile, and gave Minerva a quick look.

“Perhaps you wish to join us, your highness?”

Minerva only blinked. She couldn’t tell if the question was genuine or rooted in obligation, and whichever it was, her immediate instinct was to say a polite ‘ _no_ ’. But she didn’t, surprised herself by nodding.

“If it isn’t any trouble”, she said, before she could change her mind.

This might very well exhaust her, but she had to try to adapt to this army sooner or later. And Lena wasn’t difficult to spend time around, despite the looming reminder of Macedon and Michalis she got from just looking at her.

“Lovely”, Lena smiled. “I hear Frey is on kitchen duty, so we should probably hurry before the lines get too crowded. Go on ahead, Julian, and save us a spot. I need to get my herbs for Cain before I leave.”

Julian gave another nod, and closed the tent flap. Lena turned to the table of herbs, but she looked at Minerva with a kindling fire in her eyes.

“I have one more thing to say before we go, your highness.” Her gentle voice changed into a calm, serious tone. “Our kingdom smoulders, the divide between commoners and soldiers growing wider, fear and praise ripples through the land until there’s no way to tell them apart.”

Minerva arched her brows, but she said nothing, let Lena continue.

“Perhaps there is a way to keep the flames from turning lethal, but that is not what your brother does. Macedon will wear itself thin at this rate, it’s as clear as day to me – and perhaps it is to the king as well. But Michalis will no sooner give up on his ambition than Doluna would give up on theirs.”

Lena stood silent, with a single herb in her hand, rested over her heart. She breathed deeply. “But I believe there’s hope for our kingdom, for the people who suffer”, she continued, her eyes still set on Minerva. “What Michalis has done can be undone by no one except another Macedonan royal. And if one rises up, I will give them my support.”

Minerva gave no response. Her spine had grown cold, and she silently watched as the healer looked away and placed the herb in her garb’s pocket.

Lena had shrouded her words in courtly speech, but there was no doubt to Minerva what she meant.

And how she wished she could answer her, with the confidence of the _Fearless Protector_ of old. But the knot in her throat had tightened, no words came into her mind, all she could hear in her thoughts was a quiet cry of fear.

She blinked hard, tried to find something to say, anything. She didn’t want to be a disappointment.

“Your Highness”, Lena said, her hands in her pockets and her small smile returning. “I spoke my mind, but you needn’t answer. You listened. That is more than enough for me. Now, let us think of brighter matters, and not keep Julian waiting.”

Minerva gave her an uncertain nod, and Lena held the tent flap open for her. They walked together out into the cold, the icy air immediately hunting away any trace of the lantern’s warmth. While it nipped at Minerva’s cheeks, it was also refreshing in a way, helped clear her head.

Lena had spoken her mind, and it wasn’t far from what had carefully been whispered in Minerva’s own thoughts, whispers that she’d quenched, forced away.  
Things were different now. There was hope, a slim thread of it. Minerva could see it, but she couldn’t claim it, yet. Everything was still so new, overwhelming.

What she needed was to take it slowly, one battle at the time.

And then, perhaps one day, she could speak with the voice of the _Fearless Protector_ again.


	37. A Simple Macedonan Soldier

The figure of Great General Khozen was enough to make any human tremble.

No soldier could possibly get used to having a dragon beast as a commanding officer, especially not one that made the entire army look meager in comparison.  
So Rivan Silrik – a former lieutenant in First General Minerva’s army and current squad commander in Great General Khozen’s defense force – stayed close to the human in command in an attempt to hide.

Perhaps Rivan had been spoilt in the Macedonan army, where they’d only rarely converged with the manakete. That was a thing of the past, now. And for the first time since Rivan had left his kingdom, he seriously contemplated if he should return.

He thought of his home. The small house on the far end of the main street of Macedon’s capital, where Rivan had a view toward the castle and the mesmerizing sight of the sky knights that always swarmed the sky around it. When he’d been a child, he had loved to watch the swarm when the sun was setting, as it turned into a beautiful phantasmagoric with the red rays against dark, winged shadows. His father used to put him on his shoulders almost every evening, knowing how much Rivan liked to see them. Rivan’s brother would stand with them sometimes, and tell them of how he too would swarm the castle as a knight, one day.

Rivan longed for the simplicity of what had been. A hopeful family, standing together with honest dreams.

He’d not seen his parents in four years, and the six-year anniversary of his big brother’s disappearance had passed a few months ago.

 _Tiran_.

He’d disappeared with the war, and Rivan could still recall the first words of consolation from their father.

He’s probably caught up in something important – they were at war now after all, he’d said. But months passed, and no one, not even the juniors in Tiran’s same division, knew what had become of him. The horrors had crept upon Rivan, thoughts and images of his brother’s unknown fate, that wouldn’t leave him alone.  _Tiran found dead in an alley, a mugging gone wrong_.  _Tiran fallen into the ocean, crushed by the rocks_.  _Tiran run over by a horse carriage, unrecognizable_.

Rivan had eventually simply accepted his brother's death, but as one full year passed by and his whereabouts remained a mystery, Rivan started to doubt himself.  
Tiran wouldn’t just die, he was a _fighter_ – more so than Rivan ever could be. And to find a fighter, one had to search right in the heart of war.

So Rivan had conscripted, despite managing to avoid what the Macedonans called ' _the First Swipe',_ where thousands upon thousands of citizins his age had been forcefully taken into the army. His mother and father did not understand how he could be so cruel, but Rivan had made up his mind; he simply kissed them goodbye.

He missed them. Sometimes even more than he missed the Macedon that had been.

War, he could handle with surprising ease, but feeling so disconnected from everyone he loved was like a heavy weight on his soul. And now, he was more alone than he’d ever been, but he still had his squad of close friends, so he was luckier than some.

Since the demotion of the Crimson Dragoon, the official Macedonan invasion-army had disappeared with her. The army had been split apart, and the strength they’d provided had been scattered all over the continent.

 _Useless_.

Rivan had felt like he had a _purpose_ under the Crimson Dragoon. She was callous like few, but she was Macedonan, and most importantly – _not_ a dragon beast. Perhaps she hadn’t acted much differently from the ruthless manakete, but she’d kept the Macedonan army unified and parted from the Dolunans as much as possible. That was more than enough to earn his gratitude in such trying times.

For all six years, he was loyal as he should, but it wasn’t until he’d seen her be human that he became loyal because he _wanted to_. In a world where young deaths were as inescapable and common as rain, _she_ had wanted to prevent one.

 _What did one mean among so many_ , Rivan had thought when a knife dug into a throat of a child. But clearly, the Crimson Dragoon did not think the same. No one would believe him if he’d told them what he’d seen that day, but since then, he’d _known_.

He’d known that the Macedon he remembered as a young child wasn’t a lie, known the hushed stories from his mother about the righteous family of Iote wasn’t mere melancholy reminiscing. And he’d understood what Tiran had meant with his speeches about conviction and commitment.  
Alongside the hope of finding his brother, another had been born. Hope for Macedon.

But all that no longer mattered. With the First General gone, the manakete were the sole rulers of his fate.

“Squad Commander!”

Rivan straightened immediately as Khozen snarled at him. “Yes, sire!”

The Great General stretched his wings to their full length, not bending down to look Rivan in the eye. Rivan sat atop a warhorse, and this beast was still a head taller than him.

“The rebels are nearing us”, Khozen hissed, his breath steaming in the air. “Assemble your squad and hit them head-on from the southern hills. Slow them down for us.”

Rivan didn’t budge, but inside, his heart hammered.

“Yes, sire!”

A head on charge would simply mean death. Rivan had faced the League before, and had never felt so helpless. But what would Khozen care if he died? He was just another pawn, his life a means to an end.

He had no choice but to obey, he knew that. For all his thoughts of returning home, he knew it was impossible – and he preferred death over senseless exile.

Rivan took his squad of paladins as soon a Khozen turned away, and they rode over the hillside that separated them from the Archanean League’s advance. His horse sensed his unease, snorted and pulled at the reins, but he couldn’t shake the fear. Of course the rebels would be expecting an attack from that hill. Even a toddler would. Although if he fought with all his might, maybe he could—

A screech cut through the air. A short roar with a promise for bloodshed, filled with both fury and excitement. Rivan’s heart knew it immediately.

A hundred battles he’d survived under her command – he’d recognize the sound of her wyvern anywhere.

“General...?” He reined in his horse, his voice merely a whisper. He raised a hand, signalled his squad to stop and searched the skies. He spotted her shortly after, and his eyes widened.

He had heard correctly. The Crimson Dragoon circled the Archanean League, along with a Pegasus knight known to Doluna as the Flying Demon.  
The circular hovering was something Rivan recognized as a protective manouver.  _She_ , a champion of Macedon, sheltered the League with her wings.

Rivan stood on that hillside for what felt like an eternity, entranced by the sight. Then he turned, urging his horse into a gallop.

Away from Knorda.

Away from the League.

“Oi!” Ove, one of his dearest friends yelled after him. “You’re deserting!”

Rivan turned in his saddle, saw all four paladins of his squad gallop close behind.

“I will not raise my lance against my queen!” he yelled back.

Another paladin, Ylina, rode up beside him and locked his gaze.

“It’s treason to speak that way”, she called over the sound of galloping hooves. “Michalis is king.”

“You’re free to do as you like”, Rivan shouted and looked once again toward the mighty flier in the sky behind them. There wasn’t a single chance they’d win against her. She was destruction in human form.

And she was just that.  _Human_.

If her allegiance was with the liberation, so was Rivan’s.

“We'll follow you”, Ove shouted back. “But shouldn’t we aim to join the League?”

Rivan looked ahead again. His heart hammered wildly but at the same time, a slight grin slowly spread over his face. “I believe there’s more damage to be instilled on Doluna from the inside. That’s where I’m going.”

“We’re with you, sire”, the third paladin called, pointing right at him and letting out a laugh. “This is madness, but you’re right that it’s _less mad_ than going against the _General_. We’re with you!”

They left Knorda market before the battle had even begun, but there were much grander battles ahead.


	38. Knorda Market

The narrow fields outside the market town of Knorda had threaded into the familiar chaos of battle.

As a part of what Marth had called the ' _Dragon Killing Squad_ ', Minerva was meant to hold back until Khozen decided to show himself. She could still fight the regular soldiers, but didn’t have much of her focus to spare. She had enough of her mind occupied with keeping track of Maria.

Minerva circled the advancing League, her eyes steadily on Maria in the back lines. She hugged her staff tightly, but marched with determination alongside the rest of the army, princess Caeda’s mercenaries close by.

 _Safe_ , Minerva’s mind confirmed, and she looked away, only to glance back a moment after to confirm it again.

 

Thus far the soldiers on the ground had only had to deal with smaller enemy parties attacking from the sidelines, but as the valley between hills begun to narrow, they'd face the main force head on.

The League's front managed the first wave of Dolunans, but when the second wave of Dolunan cavalry advanced, the League was pushed back, its defenses breaking so that the enemy could split their force. The ballisticans on the city walls hammered their projectiles as the League was slowly forced into their range. Minerva scanned the situation as quickly as she could. She could get a hit at the front before a ballista could aim at her, perhaps that would give them time to recover—

Her eyes darted toward the back lines again by pure instinct, and her thoughts stopped dead in their tracks.

The back lines were broken. Caeda’s mercenaries had moved into the sidelines to fight another assault, the former square formation now the shape of a crescent moon. And Maria was nowhere to be seen.

Minerva’s chest tightened, but she turned Titania around, and spotted her a second later.

Maria’s tiny figure crossed the field with determined force, running past the dented front lines. A lance that was thrust at her missed by a hair's breadth, yet she continued running straight into the mass of enemies. Minerva’s eyes narrowed as she ushered Titania faster forward.

Her heart screeched, but her mind was oddly calm and focused as she followed Maria’s path with her gaze.

One of Marth’s closest knights had gone too far, his armor broken by a well placed throwing axe. Cain, wasn’t it? It wouldn’t matter much, as the knight would be dead soon. So that was where Maria was headed. Curse her kind heart.

Despair battered at Minerva’s temples, but she could barely feel it. Her focus was one thing and one thing only.

She dived.

Through the biting airspeed, Minerva still willed her eyes to be set on Maria, who dodged a sword strike aimed for her and fell on the grass, but she was immediately up and running again.

Minerva was close now, she could even hear her.

“ _Wrys_!” she screamed from the top of her lungs. “Wrys, I’m coming! Wrys, you can’t stay here, _run_! I can heal him!”

Wrys had been a healer in the front, and was already by Cain’s side, kneeling on the ground. The old man looked up at Maria’s cry, and his expression slacked, as if it was only then he realized he was surrounded by certain death.

And Maria was running to join him.

 _Faster, Titania_.

Wrys noticed Minerva, looked right at her. With a trembling finger, he pointed at Maria.

 _I'm on my way._ Minerva's thoughts were a frantic storm, but she felt like she were merely a spectator to them. She narrowed her eyes, broke away from Wrys' frightened gaze. _Farewell, old man._

Minerva launched her throwing axe at the third enemy trying a strike at Maria, and in one fell swoop she grabbed Maria by the arms and hoisted her up on Titania. It took all but two seconds.

They were far up in the air again within the time of a breath.

 

Maria looked all around her, seemingly not understanding how she got there, but then she locked eyes with Minerva.

“Sister, no”, she panted. “Let me go back, Wrys, Cain, they’re going to—“

Maria grew pale and stopped talking, her gaze gliding away from Minerva and down to the ground. Minerva cast an eye behind her to follow what she looked at. She just managed to catch sight of Wrys impaled by a lance, before the enemies drowned the sight of him and Cain completely.

“No”, Maria whispered, her face devoid of emotion but her voice breaking. “ _Wrys_... Cain...”

Minerva looked ahead again, the sounds of battle growing almost distant as she hovered far away from the ballisticans' range. Maria held a trembling hand before her mouth, trying to still the sobs that travelled through her like shivers.

“Why didn’t you save them?” Her voice was so small; it was barely audible over the whooshing of beating wings.

“Maria, I couldn’t.” Minerva leaned forward to try to look at her, but Maria’s eyes were set on the chaos below. “They were a dozen too many, I couldn’t fight them all alone, and Titania wouldn’t be able to carry all three of you—”

“But you didn’t even _try_!”

Minerva clenched her jaws. She knew the lashing anger of loss better than most, knew the helplessness that longed for an outlet, but it still hurt to hear.

“I chose retreat over death”, she answered. “Wrys agreed, Maria, he signalled for me to save you, didn’t for a moment think of himself.”

Maria sobbed again and hugged her staff closer. “I know, I saw... But _why_? We could have given him a chance to run! What if it was Palla or Catria down there? Wouldn’t you have fought for them?”

Minerva didn’t speak. They both knew the answer. And while it smarted inside her, there still wasn’t room for much guilt. She wasn’t willing to risk Maria, not for people she barely knew. Her heart tightened slightly.  _Selfish_.

She swallowed, shoved the thought to the side. “I’m sorry, Maria.”

Maria wiped her tears and breathed out in a final sob. “Mm”, she hiccupped. “Me too. Sorry.”

Maria leaned her head back on Minerva’s shoulder. The way she’d used to when they were children. Below them, the chaos continued. The masses of people kept moving on the ground like a spreading wildfire.

“You were right”, Maria said quietly. “A battlefield is nothing like the stories.”

Minerva hugged her closer, saying nothing.

 

The battle was a true mess, nothing like the organized encounters Minerva had witnessed from the League before. In most places the League was gaining higher ground, but at the massive cost of life. Wrys was not the only one that had fallen; Minerva recognized the young archer Gordin who knelt beside his friend Castor – pinned cold to the ground by a ballista-projectile. There was no trace of Cain, but despite that, Abel was desperately riding towards the area where the enemies had surrounded him. Other bodies were scattered around, none of them familiar to Minerva – until she caught sight of Julian. The thief had gotten shot in the leg while defending Lena, and a paladin was aiming for him, galloping without mercy for a foe that could not run.

Another casualty. Minerva knew she probably wouldn’t get there in time, but she’d try. Now that Maria was safe, she couldn’t stay up there while the ground forces suffered.

“Hold on, now.” Minerva pulled out a throwing axe, and dived straight down. Perhaps she could get close enough to throw that enemy paladin off his horse...

“Minerva! Wait!”

Maria pointed down, and Minerva followed her finger.

The figure of Lena was reaching out toward Julian, her usual gentle movements dismissed to make room for the kindling fire Minerva had seen in her once before. She screamed her throat hoarse for her friend, and the world stilled around her, the sunlight around her distorting and forming fire. The flames shot away uncontrollably towards the paladin before he could reach Julian, incinerating both horse and rider.

“ _Light magic_ ”, Maria yelled. “Lena’s using _light magic_!!”

Minerva had no idea how that differed from other kinds of magic. What she understood was that a _healer_ just had _killed_.

War truly turned the world upside down.

Minerva slowed her pace, and landed beside Lena. The healer had caught Julian in her arms, kept him upright.

“Are you all right?” Minerva called over to her. Lena merely nodded, her face pale.

They had no more time to speak, their confused awe cut short by quakes in the ground under Titania’s feet. The air crashed against Minerva’s cheeks as the roar of a dragon carried over the hills.

A giant shape progressed toward them, crushing entire farms under his feet. The dragon was quite far away from the front, but with the steps it took it would reach the League in no time at all. The tides had begun to turn to the League's favor, but the mere sight of such a beast was certain to be a fatal blow to their morals, not to mention how fatal it'd be up close.

“Oh”, Minerva said, to no one in particular. “Seems like Khozen wants to join us.”

Maria stared at the dragon, eyes wide. “Don’t go there”, she said, clutching desperately at Minerva’s sleeve. “I know what you said but you can’t go there, it’s _madness_ —“

Minerva lifted a squirming Maria off the saddle. “Minerva, no, you can’t—I can’t lose you— _Please_ don’t do this!”

Minerva dropped her on the ground, giving her a crooked smile. “Stay safe, Maria.”

With that, she took off. She tried to not listen as Maria cried after her, and darted towards Khozen.

 

She knew full well it might be the last Maria saw of her, but she’d faced that thought so many times before, she didn’t hesitate. Minerva's heart was still shrivelled and dry – _she_ didn’t matter. What mattered was that Maria wouldn’t have to meet this beast, that no other farmer would risk trampling by his feet, no one would face the suffering from his orders. Khozen was the one to oversee the construction of the punisher's platform, every time they set up a new camp, and the thought threw fuel on the fire in Minerva's mind. _Never again_.

Minerva crossed the air like an arrow, and below her, the remaining Dragon Killing squad all scrambled together. The only one missing was Caeda. Minerva hadn’t seen her since the beginning of battle – she prayed that she was well.

Another wall of hot air hit Minerva’s face, and she squinted and slowed down.

“Burn”, the dragon roared. It was almost incomprehensible. “Disgusting mortals – _burn_ , till your blood boils and your flesh cooks!”

As he spoke, he incinerated everything on the ground around him. Minerva couldn’t believe her eyes.

The Dragon Killing Squad had just reached him, his fire the answer to their assault. One of prince Hardin’s paladins was swallowed by the flames, and didn’t rise from the chiselled grass. Minerva had no idea of his name, and had no time to think.

The small mage of the group, Merric, managed to steer a small portion of the fire in another direction, saving both him and the two soldiers beside him. Minerva recognized one of them as Draug, the armor knight. The other one must have been the pirate. Those three did seem close.

Draug thrust their newest find – a silver lance – into Khozen’s chest. Maybe it hurt him, but to no other avail than to infuriate. The dragon winced and aimed his front leg toward the ground, and he would’ve squashed all three of the remaining squad if Minerva hadn’t reached him.

 _You’ve done enough_ , her thoughts hissed.

She crashed into Khozen’s face, Titania fearlessly locking her claws into the soft scales of his muzzle. It threw him off, and his feet missed the people on the ground.

“Oi, Khozen!” Minerva slammed Hauteclare into Khozen’s face, cutting through the softer scales on his cheeks. His teeth fractured under the blow, the sound a pleasing, mad symphony to Minerva. Khozen roared and tried to shake her off, but Titania held fast.

He locked eyes with Minerva, hissing smoke from his torn cheek. Crimson red met maroon red for the second time.

“You might have a _ferocious flea problem_ ”, she yelled, and Titania roared with her.

Khozen’s gaze boiled of hatred, and Minerva answered with a clear, odd calm in hers.

 _‘Humans learn their place through pain’, you said_. She adjusted the grip on Hauteclere, its mad song pulsing through her veins. _It is time you learned yours._

Hauteclare moved with feathery ease as she slammed it right between the dragon’s eyes. That gave her the moment she needed to tear off and return to the sky. She couldn’t stay in the same place too long – one successful hit from his tail or legs would mean an abrupt end.

Khozen snapped with his jaws after her, and when he missed, he let out a hot wall of fire right toward her. The flames were near the size of the hills around them, but there was an opening just big enough for her and Titania. Must have been by virtue of Merric, but Minerva had no time to thank him.

Khozen’s head retracted back to the ground again as another stab of Draug’s lance dug into his chest. The armored knight had been ready for the assault, and was quick to step back this time, while Merric kept the dragon’s head back with a powerful gust of his wind magic. Minerva tried to get closer without getting caught in the wind, darting back and forth around Khozen, looking for another opening. She caught sight of the pirate Darros by Khozen’s right leg, where he hacked the scales off the dragon’s skin, and his voice carried over to her in disconnected bursts of sound. It took her a moment before she noted in the back of her mind that he was _singing_. Loudly. Maniacally.  
Maybe that was a pirate’s way of keeping sane in battles.

She got no time to dwell on it, with the ever moving figure of Khozen now aiming directly for Merric. Before Minerva could intervene, something swished past her, and an iron lance broke against the throat of Khozen.

 _Caeda_. The Pegasus princess drew her short sword, now that her lance was gone. Her face remained brave, but she looked so small against the ruthless head of a dragon.  
Khozen moved his face toward the tiny butterfly of a Pegasus, jaws opening and ready to snap both rider and mount in half.

Minerva wasn’t aware of her actions. She saw soft skin on the underside of Khozen’s jaws.

And she cut.

Blood showered her as she flew up from under his chin, hooked Hauteclere steadily into it and pulled, using the weight of Titania to tear him away from the sky knight. All in but a moment.

Khozen had no sanity left in his eyes when he glowered back at her, no sign of the usual small pretense in upholding the shape of a human. All that remained was a manakete’s mad bloodlust.

That was the last that Minerva saw of his burning eyes, before Titania dug her claws into his cheek again, and gauged them out with her teeth. Even Minerva was taken back, but not for long. The wyvern couldn’t have looked like more than a leech on the gigantic figure of Khozen, but her ferocity outshined his.

Minerva’s pride was let out in an exploding yell, and Draug's third stab with the silver lance was the final. The blade found Khozen’s heart, weakened his legs, and he fell without the breath to bring them down along with him.

The Great General died with a snarling wyvern on his face, a wyvern spitting out pieces of his eyes over his slack jaws.

Minerva leaned back, laughing at the sky.

Despite the death, the fear, the hate – she still laughed.

 

A battle - a _real_ battle, one that made her alive.

A rekindling memory of the righteous fool she’d been. That she still _was_.

She leaned forward and threw her arms around Titania’s neck, couldn’t stop laughing.

Titania didn’t seem to think it was all that funny though; she turned her head close to Minerva and parted her lips to show the still remaining pieces of manakete-eyes, running along her teeth. It must have tasted terrible, Titania usually wasn’t picky about what she bit into.

“I got it, love”, Minerva said in a sing-song voice. She dismounted and scraped the slime off the teeth with her hands, standing atop the still warm head of Khozen.

“Princess Minerva.”

In her euphoria, Minerva had forgotten to keep awareness of her surroundings, and twirled around with soggy hands balled into fists, ready to smack whoever had spoken dead in the face.

She was met by Caeda, and relaxed her fists. The flier climbed up on the head of Khozen to join her, and without hesitation, she put both hands on Minerva’s shoulders.

“You”, Caeda said while looking her straight in the eye, “must be the most impressive thing I’ve seen.”

Minerva stood stunned for a moment, trying to find words.

“Ah... Thank you”, she finally forced out. “That’s... That’s high praise coming from you, one of the greatest fighters _I’ve_ seen.”

Caeda bent her head and chuckled. “Come now. I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”

“No, I mean it. Your way of flying is truly unlike anything else, and it’s well worthy of both my praise and the enemy’s fear.”

Caeda patted her shoulder with a smile. “Well, that’s quite the honor, then”, she smiled. “And from a Macedonan princess, no less.”

Minerva wasn’t sure what to answer, the change from narrow battle focus to friendliness a bit too sudden for her. Est could do the same, and she often would during their time in the Dolunan army, but Minerva was more used to her energetic giggles and rowdy embraces. Caeda was different, she was formal, yet somehow perfectly open and at ease.

Minerva was about to take a step back, hoping to not seem too rude as she did, but Caeda moved before she could. In a graceful movement, she locked her arm in Minerva’s, and tilted her head with an even wider smile.

“The battle is over”, she said. “Walk with me.”

Minerva obliged, too stunned to refuse. Titania followed them by the heel, let out pleased smacks now that she was rid of the sludge on her teeth. Minerva could however still see the remnants of Khozen drip down from her gauntlet, and she hoped Caeda didn’t notice how it stained her sleeves as well now that she held Minerva’s arm in hers.

“That’s the reason I came late”, Caeda said and pointed at a man in Dolunan colors who spoke with Marth, casually patting his ballista. Minerva frowned, trying to make sense of the sight.

“I happened upon his girlfriend as I swept over town”, Caeda explained. “The girl called up to me not to harm her boyfriend, that he’d just made a bad choice, joining Doluna. And I turned around, swept down to talk to him by Knorda walls. After he nearly killed me, that is.”

The ballistican waved toward them, and then returned his attention to Marth.

“What did you say to him, exactly?”

“Oh, just the truth”, Caeda laughed. “That his girlfriend worried about him, that our cause was just, and that our goal was for his homeland to be free again. He answered pretty dramatically, by turning his ballista on his own general. So yes, now he’s with us. His name’s Jake.”

Minerva glanced at her, unsurely. “You must have quite a way with people.”

Caeda laughed again. “Oh, thank you, I suppose. Ever since Marth and I left my home, I do still try to make an effort in persuading as many as I can to join forces with us, even when everything is unfamiliar. I hold on to my belief that most humans aren’t happy with Doluna’s destruction.”

She quieted and gave Minerva a quick, thoughtful look.

“Although, you had me fooled. You fit the image of a Dolunan general frighteningly well, if you don’t mind me saying. Sorry for trying to kill you, at Aurelis castle.”

“Oh”, Minerva stumbled. “That— Ah, um, don’t worry about it. It was fair. I sort of deserved it. Sorry for almost killing _you_ , though.”

Caeda breathed out in a scoff. “Oh, no hard feelings. I believe it’s your loyal mount that should apologize, if anyone. She’s terrifying.”

Minerva couldn’t help throwing a quick glance behind her, and Titania responded by leaning her head closer to them and purring quietly.

“She certainly is.” Minerva let out a quiet chuckle and stroked Titania under the chin with her free arm. The pulp and blood on her gauntlet had begun to dry, as if every remnant of a battle crackled in the stillness that followed it.

 

Minerva let her gaze wander. Familiar faces appeared every so often, but most were unrecognizable. She searched until she found Maria, standing beside Lena. Their eyes found each other, and Maria almost shoved her staff into Lena’s arms before she began to run. She threw herself at Minerva in a tight embrace, broke the arm lock she shared with Caeda.

Minerva embraced her back, lifted her slightly off the ground and ignored how it made her arms ache.

Maria dangled her feet silently for a moment, before she let out a hard sigh. “I don’t like battles, sister.”

Minerva laughed quietly. “That is good, little candle. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Says you”, Maria exclaimed and leaned back to scowl at her. “Don’t think I didn’t see you fly into the _face_ of a _dragon_!”

Minerva gently placed her back on the ground, giving her a crooked smile. “I wasn’t going to let it come anywhere near you.”

As she spoke, she felt something inside her give way. Something similar to the mad laughter right after Khozen’s death, but more defined, like a bright star in her mind.

 _Khozen is gone_ , her thoughts stated for her, and the impact of the thought only made the light brighter. _He can’t hurt anyone again_.

Minerva knew it didn’t end there, that Khozen was a mere brick in the unfathomably thick wall that was the Dolunan manakete force. But the rush of pride and relief wouldn’t leave her, still. She smiled wider at Maria.

Two knights had closed in from the side of them. Minerva assumed that they were there to speak with Caeda, since they both bowed their heads toward her in greeting. But they met Minerva’s eye as well, and one of them gave a small wave at Maria. Abel was one of the two – she’d never forget his face for as long as she lived – but the other was... Cain? Minerva squinted at the red knight.

“Wait – weren’t you dead?” she blurted. She caught Maria attempting to poke her in the rib, but couldn’t figure out what she wanted to say with it.

Cain didn’t seem to mind the question, though his gaze set on Minerva without looking her directly in the eye.

“Thanks to Wrys, Abel and your sister, I’m – ah – quite alive.” The red knight wiped his forehead, and Minerva caught a tone of guilt in his voice. “Wrys managed to piece me together enough to keep me breathing, until Abel came to my rescue and dragged me to safety. Where Maria could save me properly. Wanted to say thanks.” He looked at Maria and began to nod at her, but his head didn’t move properly. “But it’s also... my fault Wrys died. So. Wanted to say sorry, too.”

“He made his choice to follow you”, Maria said. “And if he’d known that you would live, he’d think it was worth it.” After the initial shock of seeing someone she looked up to die, Maria kept an impressive brave face. But she still held on to Minerva’s arms in a disjointed embrace, and Minerva noticed how her fingers hugged tighter into her gauntlets as she spoke.

“We’ve lost a lot of good people today.” It was Caeda who spoke. Her eyes were solemn as her gaze set on her mercenaries that worked with pulling bodies away, but her tone did not shiver in the slightest. “But because of their sacrifice, the Archanean League lives to see another day. Do not feel regret. All we can do is honor them by learning from our mistakes, and push on.”

Caeda’s words were followed by a grave silence, but Cain met her eyes and gave a proper nod, this time. “I won’t fail again”, he promised. “Been given a second chance, and I’ll train twice as hard for it!”

“You already do”, Abel smiled gently at him. Cain didn’t respond in any other way than taking a hold of his friend’s arm and walking away with a final ‘ _by your leave_ ’ at Minerva, Caeda and Maria.

Minerva felt like they’d better leave too, there was a lot of work to do after all, but when Merric walked by with the rest of the Dragon Killing squad, she couldn’t help holding out a hand to catch his attention.

“Hey”, she said. He jerked back at the sound of her voice, and stopped to look at her uncertainly. “I, um, I just— Thank you for having my back.”

Merric blinked. “Oh? Oh, right – yes, redirecting fire – it’s no problem at all, uh— your highness?”

Minerva tried smiling, and this time she thought she succeeded. “Call me what you like, just not Dragoon”, she began, but was interrupted by the pirate Darros as he grabbed hold of both her shoulders and shook her.

“Well shave me belly with a rusty razor!” Darros voice was unlike anything she’d heard – and he spoke too quickly for her to comprehend his words. “That was some _wicked_ flyin’, Dragoon-lady!”

“Uh”, Minerva began again, but it was difficult to speak through being jolted back and forth.

“Darros, didn’t you just hear what she told me—“ Merric tried to say, but he had to duck as Draug bustled forward.

“Come on Darros, don’t hog them all to yourself!” Draug bumped his fist playfully against Caeda’s shoulder with a rowdy laugh, then pointed Minerva straight in the face with a grin almost as broad as his shoulders. “It just has to be said – that’s _some_ dragon-slaying! You bloody mad, little one, just like the rest of us!”

 

It was now that Minerva realized that the Archanean League wasn’t an army. It was a confusing, overwhelming bundle of friends.

And she was right in the middle of it.


	39. Clipped Wings

The bowl of stew spread warmth over to Palla’s hands. She hugged it close and balanced it carefully, her feet quickly tapping against the frost-covered ground of the camp outside Olbern Fortress.

She slid past the Grustian soldiers that blocked her path, her body moving on its own. She didn’t think. She focused on the aroma of the stew, focused on the warmth, on the opportunity to shut out her surroundings behind tent walls, and eat in peace.

The Grustians around her were either on the way toward the many kitchen retainers around the camp that distributed the rations, or they already sat outside their tents, laughing heartedly.

The military got enough to satisfy their hunger, even though the people Palla had met outside the camp looked drained of all energy and resource. A child had stopped and stared at her and Catria as they’d walked past it. It could have been because of the bleeding laceration across Palla’s jaw, or their pegasi, but the way the child had had its cheekbones visible and arms thin as sticks, Palla was certain there was jealousy beneath that stare. Jealousy, and confusion.

And she’d been a fool to reach into her saddlebag for a piece of bread – nearby civilians caught sight of it and began to swarm her, almost caused another uprising like the one Palla’s division had been sent out to quash.

A war hit hard, even on the winning side.

 _Macedon_.

She hugged the bowl harder.

She shouldn’t think.

Tears smarted her eyes.

 _She shouldn’t think_.

“Oi, foreigner!”

Palla ignored the voice, even though she knew it must be referring to her. She wasn’t willing to chat with any of her fellow soldiers. It never ended well, but she didn’t care, much.

All she wanted was for her heart to stop its never-ending ache.

“Foreigner, didn’t you hear!?”

A knight stepped in front of her, and Palla stopped abruptly to not walk into him and spill out her stew. She regarded him silently, did not move her face.

“Say, foreigner, wouldn’t you think that it would be a shame if people walked into _your_ land as if they owned the place?”

Palla didn’t answer. She recognized this knight, now. He’d been prohibited from collecting his food rations for the day, as punishment for speaking out of turn to a captain.

“It’s not like you and your useless flying ponies have done Grust much good – yet you are provided from _our_ reserves, food we _give_ you. A little gratitude would be nice, yeah? What do you say – care to return the hospitality we’ve shown you?”

She still only stared at him, quietly. Her and her sister’s tent was only a few rows away. Could she tackle the man aside, without spilling the stew?

No, it wasn’t worth that.

She couldn’t disrupt anything.

She mustn’t.

_Min... erva..._

Tears stung her eyes again. Her hands felt weak as it held the bowl.

Her heart wasn’t inside her body. It hadn’t been for months, now.

Was she even living?

“There there, foreigner, don’t cry. Hand over the stew and I won’t hurt you.”

She moved her hands to give the bowl to him.

“What’s going on, here?”

Catria.

Her sister joined her side, spear at the ready. Perhaps she’d been sharpening it, over at the smithy. Hadn’t she said so, before? Or was that Est? Palla couldn’t keep track on her own sisters anymore. Her head was duller than it ever had been.

“Leave her alone”, Catria said, her voice cold as night. “And get out of the way.”

The knight scoffed at her and took the bowl out of Palla’s hands.

“You watch your mouth, useless.”

Catria took a step forward, her otherwise impassive face glowing in anger. “You watch _yours_ before I show you how far I can shove this spear down your—“

“Catria”, Palla interrupted quietly. “Don’t.”

Her sister inhaled in a snarl, but bit her tongue. The knight took a step back, but didn’t let his eyes off them.

“You should be grateful”, he said as he pulled the bowl closer to his chest.

He was hungry too. Of course he was. And Palla, at least, had eaten at midday.

He could have the stew.

It didn’t matter.

Perhaps it would have angered her, before.

 _Before_.

But not now.

She took a step back, and it looked like she would finally be able to retreat to the tent, but then a lance sliced the air. It hit the bowl in the knight’s hands, split it and spilled its contents on the frosty ground.

Palla and Catria stood dumbstruck for a moment.

“Who do you think you _are_?” a shrill voice yelled.

“Est”, Palla gasped. “Est, no, don’t—“

The knight aimed a clumsy fist toward Est’s face, but she ducked and avoided him effortlessly.

“I won’t let you bother my sisters!” she yelled, and moved to smack him in the face with the back of her lance. But Palla took a hold of it before she could.

“Est, stop”, Palla said, coldly. Then she quickly turned to the knight, to not give him the time to aim another blow for any of them.

“I am so sorry, sir knight”, she began. “My sister, she... tripped...”

She would have lost some of her teeth if Catria hadn’t pulled her back, and away from the flying fist.

“Sir knight”, Palla continued, and held up her hands as a sign of a yield. “I will go get you another one! I swear it!”

Stealing rations was a serious crime in this army. But why should that matter. She’d been lucky Doluna had let her stay together with her sisters, but who knew what would happen if they started a brawl. She couldn’t cause a disturbance, she couldn’t, not just for her sisters, but for _Macedon_... She had to... oblige...

... _Minerva_...

“I’m going right this moment”, Palla promised the knight. His arms had been lowered, but his eyes still burned. “And it will be a bigger portion, this time.”

\---

When she entered the tent again, her stomach ached from hunger. She didn’t think she’d been seen, stealing a bucket’s worth of stew, but she hadn’t risked taking some for herself. She could handle to be hungry for an evening.

Est paced the ground inside the tent. Catria stood at the side, watched her with a dead face and sorrowful eyes. Palla couldn’t imagine it had been easy to pull Est away from that knight after Palla had left, and she wished she could show Catria how grateful she was. It wasn’t the first time Catria had been forced to hold Est back, smooth her agitation. Something Palla failed to do.

“Est”, she began, and her youngest sister stopped in the middle of the tent, and glared at her.

“Oh, you’re back, now? Didn’t you want to stay and let that guy step on you some more?”

Palla placed her hands on her hips. She felt her eyebrows draw together. Only slightly, but that was all her face could do, now.

“I wouldn’t have _needed_ to if you hadn’t been so reckless”, she answered her. “I had to clean up your mess before it stained the whole camp! Don’t you realize what you could have done?”

“Yeah”, Est answered, her voice raised. She pointed a finger at Palla. “I could have scared him off, if you’d let me! He had no right to do that to you!”

“That doesn’t _matter_. You know what will happen if we stand out, if we—“

“Palla, _COME ON_!” Est’s voice was raised to its full volume, now. “I don’t care if you don’t even _thank_ me for helping—“

“You didn’t help, you did the _opposite_ —“

“—but I can’t let you walk around in this lie anymore!”

They both stopped for a heartbeat. Est breathed hard. Palla didn’t breathe at all.

“What lie?” Palla asked flatly. Her sister pushed her lips together, her eyes glossy.

“Tell me what _bloody_ lie, Est.”

“They’re dead”, Est snapped. “Commander, Maria – they’re _dead_ , alright? Think about it – we never saw Commander after that day, we haven’t heard anything from anywhere, and Doluna kills people left and right – and I will _not_ stand for that anymore.”

“But we have to”, Palla whispered. Her voice so weak. “We don’t know that they’re... they’re... We _have_ to protect them. That hasn’t changed...”

“Yes is has!” Est stomped into the ground and leaned closer, her eyes glistening. “We’ve served these bastards for years and years and we’ve done _everything_ for them. And we still lose! It’s so unfair, and it changes _everything_!”

“Est, no matter what, there is nothing else we can do—”

“So you say, but you don’t _listen_! You bow your head and grovel in dirt, even though you’re not helping _anyone_ by doing it! You have to see it too – there is no _way_ Commander and Maria will come back. I’m beginning to believe you actually LIKE Doluna.”

Palla had to say it, she couldn’t cause a disturbance, she couldn’t...

“YES I DO!” Palla cried back at her. “I love Doluna and I will follow them to the edge of the world!” She quieted, and immediately whispered. “Est, I _have_ to say that, don’t you understand—“

“You’re impossible”, Est snarled back. “And it’s embarrassing. I’m not going with this, not anymore. I’m leaving.”

Palla reached for her. “Est, you’re just being reckless, you can’t—“

“THAT’S ALL YOU SAY”, Est yelled, stepped away from Palla’s hand. “You act like you know what I should and shouldn’t do, but you haven’t a clue. Stop trying to be my mother and just _leave me alone_.”

Palla clutched her hand over her chest. A fist over her breastplate, to substitute the illusion of a heart inside her.

Est breathed shakily, then grabbed her lance and pushed her bedding furs in a sack over her back. She straightened and looked at Catria. “Are you staying, too?”

“Est, c’mon, think about this”, Catria tried, her voice pleading. But Est only turned her back and stepped toward the entrance.

She stopped in front of Palla for a moment. Her eyes didn’t have their childish glow, anymore. It hadn’t been there since the day... the day they’d seen Minerva last...

“If you change your mind”, Est said through gritted teeth, “I’m going after the Archanean treasure sword. I overheard these Grustian bastards talking about it. It’s here in Grust, somewhere. I bet that’s what Commander wanted of us, anyway. To be useful. You could find me – if you wanted to.”

“Est, please—“

She pushed past Palla. A puff of rosehip hair, and then she was gone.

Palla stood frozen for a moment, then she threw the tent flap aside.

“Est!”

Her voice broke, but she didn’t care.

She could still see the shape of her sister as she walked into the darkness of dusk. But her legs wouldn’t move to run after her.

 _Est_.

She couldn’t speak through the tears. Her knees hit the ground, and she folded herself double. Covered her eyes. She was so lost.

_A lie... a lie..._

Her chest stung like acid. The air outside her didn’t feel real, it was cold, full of malice, and empty.

She shouldn’t think, but she couldn’t help it any longer.

There it was – the image of a confident smile, eyes with a fire both wild and warm. Chin high with regal pride, but arms always there to welcome Palla close. Palla could see the tears that revealed a shattered heart, hear the youthful laugh from simpler times, feel the hands that clutched to Palla’s so fiercely they spoke of a promise to never let go—

_Minerva, please, please..._

She shouldn’t think, shouldn’t think, shouldn’t think.

 

A hand was placed between her shoulder blades, and Palla gasped a shallow breath. Some cold dust from the ground followed, but she didn’t care. She sat up, unsteadily.  
Catria crouched beside her, gently stroking her back.

“You should go with her”, Palla croaked. “Leave me, if you want to.”

Catria’s hand moved up to her shoulder, and she pulled Palla into half a hug.

“Nah”, she whispered tonelessly. “I stay.”

Palla’s hands lay uselessly in her lap. She couldn’t make sense of her thoughts, the blinding hurt inside her made no room for gratitude or for reason. She merely looked at Catria’s hand on her shoulder.

“Sister... why?”

“I talked to Marth”, Catria whispered and hugged her shoulder even harder. “That day I stayed behind because I was ill? Yeah. Then. Commander asked me to find the rebels, right after Lefcandith. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, she said. Too dangerous. But I’m telling you, now. She would’ve turned to you if she could’ve. You might as well know.”

Palla stared into the ground. “Catria, what are you...?”

“I know it might not mean anything at all”, her sister interrupted her. “I know, Est is probably right. But that Marth-prince... I don’t know, he listened to me at least, you know? I just... Est has a point, and gods know I _want_ to go with her, but I also really want to stay here. Because if Est is wrong, it means Commander is alive, and she’ll need for us to cover her back. Est can handle herself, and she’ll come back in a day or so. She’s stormed off before, yeah?”

Palla couldn’t breathe properly. _No, not like this, not like THIS_.

“I’ll fight right here”, Catria concluded. “And so will you, no doubt.” She quieted, and Palla could feel her eyes on her. She responded automatically by meeting her gaze.  
Catria's face was as stern as ever, but her eyes sparked of determination. Palla felt embarrassment glow at the base of her throat – her sister wasn’t allowing herself to crackle.

Palla shouldn’t either. She shouldn’t think, then she wouldn’t break. In the midst of it all, she could recognize a light of gratitude. She wasn’t alone in this storm.

“We fight for Commander”, Catria said, and gave Palla’s shoulder a slight shake. “Because that is what we do.”


	40. Lady of Light and Fire

There always remained a daze around Minerva’s mind. It didn’t exactly clear, as she’d hoped it would, it rather _changed_. What had been thick, dark smog had gradually turned into a more transparent and soothing mist.

Whenever the League stopped to set up camp and Minerva could settle inside her newly raised tent, she caught herself feeling the relief only a home can provide. She welcomed the chores that she had previously avoided, as she now dared to speak a few words and give shaky smiles even to people she never learned the names of. She wasn’t sure if the difference lay with her or with them, but she felt a palpable distinction regardless. Before the battle of Knorda, the door leading out of her isolation had merely been ajar – when the League left the battlefield behind, that same door was open wide. Minerva wasn’t yet confident enough to completely cross the threshold into their community, but the warmer smiles helped her breathe easier. That ease only increased as the novelty around Minerva and Maria settled, and the attention was moved to newer recruits.

Fresh faces joined their ranks with every second village the League crossed, and the newcomers all got a chance to introduce themselves to larger parts of the army by standing up by the biggest dinner campfire and bellow out their names.

Soon, there were enough new faces for them blur together. Minerva’s memories of them only ones of noise and merriment. But there was one of the new recruits that stood out to her enough to be remembered.

 

When the League had marched half of the way to the Archanean capital, they passed through another village. And the same evening, the tall figure of a young woman outlined itself against the flames of the campfire.

The woman wasn’t someone easily forgotten – she had a stance that could make royals look meager, and the flames behind her seemed to dance to the rhythm of her breaths. She wore an intricate mage’s garb, with most of her chestnut hair kept in place in a braided crown and the rest flowing freely all the way down to her knees.

“My name is Linde”, the woman began. “I am the daughter of pontifex Miloah, and I have come to fight by your side.”

Her announcement had every magician in the assembly draw a breath, and Minerva glanced curiously at Maria.

“Someone famous?” Minerva whispered.

“Sister”, Maria hissed through her teeth, placing a hand on her own cheek in embarrassment. “Miloah was a _pontifex_. A pupil of the immortal White Sage! A _legend_!”

Minerva had never bothered to understand much of the hierarchy among magicians, but when she studied the tall figure by the campfire, there could be no question that she was something akin to a noble.

“My father”, Linde continued, “was at the beginning of this war slain by Gharnef, Khaedin’s oppressor and Doluna’s pet mage.” She spat the words out, and the fire behind her hissed along with her.

“I managed to elude the dark sorcerer when he came for my father, and I have since hidden my face and name.” Linde lifted her hands to the level of her eyes, and revealed a tome that sparkled of gold in the fierce light.

“I will hide no more”, she said, and the fire crackled intensely with every syllable of her speech. “In my hands, I wield the Aura tome, a tome Gharnef feared enough to have my father killed. What the dark sorcerer might not have known is that my father passed down _everything he knew_ to me. Aura’s light bends to my will just as it did to his, and with it, I will fight for Archanea, and the world! I swear I will not rest until I see Gharnef destroyed for his deeds!”

The fire behind Linde had grown to a wild blaze; it’s whooshing joined with the cheers from the people around it. For the fraction of a moment, the shadows that danced over Linde’s face revealed the direction of her gaze. The mage stared straight ahead, her eyes filled with the seething desire to finally stand up and act, to cast aside the shackles of fear.  _To fulfill a promise, or die trying_.

The sight was so familiar, Minerva’s eyes darted over her shoulder, half expecting to see Palla by her right side with the same iron in her gaze, ready to stand up and bellow out her own name.

But Minerva's eyes were met by darkness. Of course.  
She should know better by now.

The cheers continued around her, and the soldiers hoisted their dinner into the air as a toast when Linde stepped down from the center of everyone’s attention. But Minerva only hugged the wooden bowl and stared down into the stew, thoughtfully looking back at the shadowy reflection of herself.

 _One day_ , her thoughts whispered. _One day, Palla. I swear I’ll find you._


	41. Small Candle

Minerva recognized the hills they settled their last encampment on.

They were a mere day’s march away from the capital of Archanea, and the palace was in sight at the horizon.

It had been summer when she’d stood on this soil last, surrounded by the celebration from the Dolunan allies.  _The end of Archanea_ , had rumbled through the air in cheers. _Holy family’s downfall!_

Doluna’s dominance had been unquestionable, their victory apparent. That was not more than half a year ago.

And yet here Minerva stood again, arms full of firewood, the wind brushing through her hair just as it had then, its howl a lonely song.

She stood unmoving, her eyes set on the dim shape of the palace at the horizon, before she finally tore away and continued down the hill with the firewood rattling in her arms.

\---

The following evening, the thinking heads of the League once again assembled inside the small council tent to plan their siege of the palace.

“We faced Doluna’s main Archanean invasion force at Knorda market”, Marth’s said as an opening statement, almost immediately after the tent flap had been closed. “With that big fraction of their armies defeated, I have no doubt we can wrestle the gates to the Millennium Court from their grasp as well. With fliers and archers at the front lines, we should be able to grant ourselves a chance to ram the gates down, but that would only be the beginning. The inside of the palace is said to be quite a stronghold.”

“You are correct, prince.” Princess Nyna was paler than usual, but her face was unchanged from its usual regal indifference when she spoke. “My home is meant to be an impenetrable maze. We might want to lay low of a few days to develop a proper plan of attack.”

Minerva carefully leaned her arms on the table with the map, locking eyes with Nyna. The deep gray in the princess’ gaze was unsettling, but Minerva tried to hold fast.

“I dissagree, your highness”, Minerva said, and a cold chill travelled down her neck as she continued; “Doluna had an invasion force marching for Talys by the time I cut my ties with them. I strongly doubt Doluna would choose to proceed with those invasion plans - they’d have that force march south to meet us instead. Their marching speed was never remarkable, but they could no doubt be very close. Your highness, my say is that our best chance to strike is _now_.”

She noticed how Marth’s old councillor Malledus’ eyes narrowed slightly at her words, but she didn’t think anything of it. She was more used to his watchful gaze than before – and it was in some ways a relief to know that Marth had someone who guarded him against the threat of words and deceit, just as fiercely as Caeda guarded him against the threats of battle.

“Princess Minerva, you wouldn’t know anything about the force inside, would you?” This time, it was Prince Hardin who spoke, and Minerva broke away from Nyna’s gaze to meet with his. The memories throbbed at Minerva's temples as she tried to recollect as much information as she could from the cursed past.

“The mage-general Volzhin commanded the successful invasion force six months ago”, Minerva answered, and her eyes darted to Nyna again. “I wasn’t... I wasn’t involved in the – well – conquering of the _palace_ specifically, Macedon was more of a clean-up force in the rear, but there was, ah, various rumors carried by the celebration in all the Dolunan camps as the, uh, the holy family was— when they fell—”

Princess Nyna leaned forward, supporting her arms on the table. “You don’t need to go on tiptoes around me, princess”, she said, and there was a slight smile moving on the edges of her lips. “I appreciate you considering my feelings, but please say what you know. I can take it.”

“As you wish”, Minerva exhaled. “So, ah, well... We held a strategy council inside the Archanean palace when the heat of battle had settled. The palace seemed intact when I passed through it, but given what I heard from the cheers of celebration, its walls and barricades had been next to crumbled. Doluna must have patched up the visible battered down gates within a day or so, and if they worked as effectively on the rest of the palace’s damages, we should assume that the defenses are all but restored by now.”

Minerva fell silent, her gaze fixed on the map. She should be able to give them something better than mere guesses, but what else was there? She remembered there’d been two manakete present at the council table in the Archanean palace, and she could recall the young general Camus of Grust who had failed to keep Nyna in her cell. That, and also two generals from Gra – one of which had their brains stain the floor – eleven generals from Grust, fifteen human generals of Doluna, and one of them was a mage who always had the odd combination of a smug smile and a deep frown... General Volzhin.

“Volzhin... is Dolunan”, Minerva finally continued. “He was granted the privilege of the Archanean throne, and given his arrogance, I doubt he’d leave the throne to be guarded by anyone else than himself. He boasted about his advanced fire magic whenever he had a chance, though I have never seen it in use. Other than that, there’s nothing else I can remember about him.”

Marth cocked his head and gave her a toothy smile. “That’s plenty more than we knew before”, he said, and raised a finger for emphasis. “If our enemy commander is a mage, I have no doubt Merric will provide us with the help we need – and we have Linde now, too. Lena surprised all of us when she announced her newfound affinity for light magic, and I’m certain that can assist us as well. I’m not too worried about Volzhin.”

“Let’s not forget that my Pegasus can protect me from most magic assaults”, Caeda said and put her arms behind her back. “I could take him down if the need arises. But if he, like Minerva says, was entrusted with the Archanean throne and that he’ll personally defend it, it begs the question; how do we get to the throne room?”

Nyna drew a deep breath, her shoulders tense. Minerva admired the Archanean princess’ brave appearance, but she could tell that the situation was affecting her.

“My house is like a maze”, Nyna began, gesturing with her hands above the map, as if painting a new one out of the air. “Your safest way to the throne room is by passing by the dungeons, directly to the left after you enter. Not the big, barred doors, but a smaller wooden one leading down a spiral stair, then left, past the prisoner cells, then through the tunnel beneath our southern gardens, then up the second stairway, after which you arrive in the eastern gardens. Simply pass through the gardens toward the west wing and the throne room is there for you to take.”

Minerva hated battling inside castles. The main reason was that flying was impossible, and that every stone and brick had been placed to create the perfect defenses – but another big reason why was how much direction mattered. War had fine-tuned her capability to keep instructions in her head, but the Archanean palace was simply too much. She barely remembered the path she’d taken to reach the Dolunan strategy meeting, all those months ago.

“Would you consider writing this down?” Marth asked Nyna. His voice was casual, but he had uncertainty written clearly on his face.

“Left, small door, left, tunnel, second stairway, east gardens, then west.” Minerva was surprised to hear it was _Maria_ that spoke, and she even gestured over the map the same way Nyna had. “That won’t be too difficult to remember, I don’t think.”

Maria’s eyes darted up to the stunned faces of the royals around the table, and she wrinkled her forehead into a frown. “You fighters are too busy waving swords around to read directions. I could lead the way for you.”

“Little candle”, Minerva smiled nervously at her. “Not so fast, please.”

Maria turned her eyes on Minerva, and her frown deepened. “You said we were in a hurry, though. I’d love to be of use. Besides, with... With Wrys gone, we need another front healer. Don’t worry, I won’t be reckless this time.”

Minerva opened her mouth to speak, but prince Hardin got a word in before she did.

“That is a compelling offer, young princess”, he chuckled. “And you are absolutely right – we need a bright head focused on directing us brawlers. I’ve been so consumed by fighting before that I got lost in a smaller stronghold than this, and such a mistake would cost us dearly now. We could have you at the front with me and my paladins. We’ll make it our mission to keep you safe, your highness Maria.“

Minerva’s stomach lurched a little, but she closed her mouth again. She couldn’t argue the necessity of a tactician in such a maze, but that _Maria_ was keen for the task made her footing unstable. This army was full of people, there had to be others that were just as able—

“Maria”, she began, her voice weak. Maria’s head snapped toward her again, and looked her straight in the eye. Determination sparked behind the elegant red of her iris.

 _Please_ , she seemed to say. _Please let me be useful. Trust in me._

Minerva had seen that steadfast gaze before. A streak of their mother, and her stubborn, iron thoughts.

Minerva cleared her throat, but it remained thick. “Prince Hardin”, she said without looking away from Maria, “I’d like to be part of Maria’s defense as well.”

“Of course—“ Prince Hardin began, but Nyna raised a hand.

“I’d advise you not to”, the princess heir interjected. “The corridors in the dungeon are too slim for a wyvern. Pegasi and horses can pass through, but your mount is far too broad – and leaving your wyvern behind would be a waste we cannot afford. We need every able body fighting where their capacity to do so is the greatest.”

Minerva slowly shifted her gaze to Nyna as she spoke, and when she fell silent, Minerva couldn’t connect her thoughts enough to form words. Her mouth had gone dry, too.

“Then what?” she asked, and she could feel her own face harden as Nyna looked away, as if saying ‘ _I don’t know_ ’.

“You could guard the rear”, Caeda put in, and tilted her head at Minerva. “You mentioned the... the Talys invasion force, yes? We need someone to make sure they don’t take us by surprise.”

The table felt so big all of a sudden. The people around Minerva grew before her – or was it she who was shrinking?

She clenched her jaws. She shouldn’t be selfish – she was better than that, she had to abide with Maria having a life of her own. She gained nothing by sheltering her so. It hurt, it had all her instincts scream in protest, but she finally nodded.

“I don’t like this”, she said, her eyes shifting to Marth. “But give me direction and I shall wreak havoc to my last breath. I...” The image of Wrys impaled by a lance flashed before her eyes, but she shook it away and looked at Maria again. “I trust you all to make it through this.” She drew a deep breath and steeled her gaze. “I take my place at the rear, as Caeda suggests. The entrance hall has a high enough ceiling, if I remember correctly. I might not be able to fly, but that is still... better than giving our enemy an advantage.”

“We’ll leave some of our muscle with you”, she heard Marth say from the right of her. “I think Draug will have difficulty moving in long stairways anyway, and for good measure, I leave Ogma and Cord under your wings as well. I expect there will be quite the rush to the dungeons, so we’ll need you. Talys invasion force or not, word will get that we are in the dungeon, make no mistake. You hear when someone invades your castle.”

Minerva still wasn’t looking directly at him, but since they all stood so close and huddled around the map, she could feel how Marth’s shoulders tensed. “It’s quite impossible to miss", Marth continued. "I’d know.”

They all stood silent for a few moments after that, and as no one said anything else, Marth rolled the map together with a furrowed brow.

“Then we have a plan”, he said. “The castle gates will most certainly crumble under Minerva and Caeda if you two get the proper support from our archers. Our new ballistican Jake will no doubt be a great asset for plucking down enemy artillery on the wards, too. In any case, once we’ve seized the gate, Maria and prince Hardin’s squad will take the lead and Minerva’s squad take the rear. Princess Nyna, you wait here at the camp. I know this is your kingdom, but that doesn’t change anything – the usual still applies. If we fail, you _run_.”

“I know”, Nyna whispered. Her face was growing paler, and she met none of their eyes. “I know.”

Minerva had gotten word almost as soon as she’d joined the League that the princess Nyna wasn’t allowed on the battlefield. While she had a keenness for the tactics of war, she wasn’t trained in the same way other royals were. The holy family of Archanea was one of peace, and that image meant more than any individual life of their family members. They weren’t trained for battle, or meant to use their knowledge to cause harm. Minerva didn’t doubt the princess was able to cause harm in theory, because something about her surely seemed _magical_. It was similar to Maria’s aura of Earth magic, but still of a different kind. A neutral essence that could turn lethal if the wielder so wished. A force of nature, incomprehensible by humans, always present in the thundercloud gray in her eyes. _Holy family, indeed_.

Caeda noticed the sickened look on Nyna’s face, and placed a careful hand on her shoulder.

“Your Highness, I... I know this can’t be easy for you.”

Nyna slowly closed her eyes, and nodded solemnly.

“Thank you. Yes, this will be the hardest battle to just sit here and wait...” The princess clasped her flawless hands, and her face hardened. “When the palace fell, many, many good Archaneans were killed. The royal family... My family were...” Her hard mask crackled, into something Minerva couldn’t interpret. Perhaps that was what hatred was in a face that never had been trained to portray such feelings. “Their bodies were hung before the castle gates as an example. I cannot unpaint that vivid picture, of my parents and brothers grossly _changed_...”

Minerva felt a sharp blow to her heart, just knowing that the young princess must have seen her family die. To Minerva, their bodies had been an icy horror, but they weren’t people she’d known by anything except names. They weren’t people she’d cared about, so she’d just been able to stroll past them. She’d been busy with her own torment, but now she couldn’t ignore the guilt that crawled inside her gut.

“I feel as though I should cry, or scream”, Nyna continued, and slowly opened her eyes again. “But no tears come, and I cannot chase away the sadness and rage...”

Her eyes darted toward the people around the table, as if only then realizing they were still there, and her face became neutral once again.

“I cannot change the past”, she said and rested her hands against her sides. “I can only shape the future. And I believe it will be the League that leads the way toward a brighter one.”

Caeda stroked her back, and prince Harmein whispered a ‘ _hear, hear_ ’. Marth’s lips had tensed into a thin line, and he fiddled with the edges of the map while he regarded Nyna in silence. Maria was the first one to move – she straightened, supporting her arm on Minerva’s shoulder.

“Your Highness, I promise you, you will not have to run this time”, Maria said, her eyes once again sparking the determination Minerva had seen before. “Tomorrow, we’ll take you home.”


	42. The Ageless Palace

The great wooden gate leading into great Archanea’s entrance hall lay splintered on the threshold. The battering ram had been cast aside, still with flakes of wood falling off its blunt edge.

Titania let out huffed breaths into Minerva’s neck, her claws rasping into the floor as she sharpened them.  
The wyvern could sense coming bloodshed better than most, but perhaps she simply smelled the blood that had already been spilled outside of the palace walls and in the dungeons below them.

Minerva could no longer hear the advancing soldiers yells and clashing weapons, and it chilled her bones.  
‘ _I won’t die down there_ ’, Maria had smiled at her before she followed prince Hardin into the stairway, but that did nothing to ease the restless dread inside Minerva. The League had taken the gate without loss and barely any sweat, but that was different, irrelevant. _This_ was the true challenge, _this_ was where Doluna did their final stand for their conquest of Archanea – and Maria was far out of reach.

Minerva put her hand on the wyvern’s head and adjusted her hold on Hauteclare. She had to focus on the present. At the very least, she should pretend to.

“Be prepared for anything”, she said gravely and let her gaze rest on the three people who stayed at the entrance with her. Ogma, one of Caeda’s loyal warriors, merely nodded at her and patted the hilt of his sword. Cord gave half a salute, and Draug grinned at her.

“Best to always expect the worst but hope for the best”, Draug said while he leaned on his lance. “But if the worst _does_ happen, you small ones should be the ones running ahead. I’ll shield you, ram ‘em down if need be.”

Minerva couldn’t take offense from Draug’s familiar name for them, since compared to him, _everyone_ was small. His head reached the top of the door, and he was as broad as a horse-wagon. A soldier like him could even almost any odds in close combat.

“Let’s hope it won’t come to that”, Minerva answered him with a small twitch of her mouth. “I’d feel sorry for our enemy.”

\---

They waited for what felt like hours.  
The splintered gate and still steaming archer corpses on the outer ward’s wall were the only proof that a battle was taking place at all. The stillness was crawling over Minerva’s skin.

Minerva chose to patrol the hall’s perimeter, since moving about kept her thoughts in line. Each lap, she passed by Ogma and Cord, who were standing on lookout for any attack from the main gate, then Draug who were guarding a giant gate opposite the entrance, then she completed her circuit by walking past Titania who stayed at the entrance to the dungeons, growling at every small sound from below.

A long time after she’d lost count on the number of laps, Minerva finally stopped in the middle of the stone hall and leaned her back against a marble pillar. She breathed deeply, but her restless thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone.

 _Fight_ , her soul cried. _The front lines are yours! What are you waiting for – get Maria out of here – fight, fight—_

She’d rather spend an hour in Michalis presence than stay behind like this again. Doluna’s armies had always had numbers on their side, so back when she was a part of them she could always be at the front. And in some strange way, she missed it. She’d rather die than go back, but still missed it. It didn’t make much sense. She didn’t make much sense.

 

She heard a cry from behind her, and it tore her out of her spiralling thoughts.

She spun around the pillar and was met by the sight of Titania with her entire front squeezed into the dungeon stairway. The rest of her wouldn’t follow, but it was clear that she tried to push further down. She was whipping her tail wildly, and Minerva could hear the sound of her snapping jaws echoing across the hall. And again, a cry.

“Aaahh! Someone tell that beast to stop! We’re friends of the League! We’re Archanean knights, set free from these dungeons!”  
Minerva cocked her head and walked closer. She stopped beside her wyvern with her back to the wall. Titania roared and continued lashing out with her jaws, and Minerva didn’t tell her to stop.

“How do we know we can trust you?” she called down the stairs.

“Is this the princess Minerva?” A young woman’s voice. Clear and bright, even when it blended with the sounds of scraping claws and clashing teeth. In many ways, it reminded Minerva of Est. She couldn’t help how her heart jumped in her chest.

“That I am”, Minerva answered the voice.

“Your sister sent us here with a message – let’s see, it was ‘ _thank you for showing me the fox cubs_ ’”, the woman continued from below. “She said it would mean something to you; so you’ll know we were sent here by her and lord Marth.”

 _Fox cubs?_ The memory hit Minerva in the center of her chest, and tears stung her eyes. She leaned her forehead against the shoulder of her axe to collect herself.

“Titania.” She didn’t raise her voice, knew she didn’t have to. “Be still.”

The wyvern stopped her snapping, and backed out of the dungeon entrance. She gave Minerva a bewildered glance, then shook herself and polished her teeth against the scales on her leg. Minerva backed away from the wall to face the newcomers, with Hauteclare at the ready.

Four people slowly revealed themselves from the darkness of the stairway. The first one to step out into the sunlight from the entrance hall windows was an old man, wearing a torn and dirty sage’s garb. His eyes were sunken deep into his face, but they squinted into a smile when he turned his face to the sun.

After him came a woman not much younger than Minerva, her hair in ragged, dirty tangles, but with traces of a sparkling blue still visible, shimmering like the wings of Archanea’s beloved spring butterflies. The woman had an iron lance almost twice her length fastened over her back, but she could still effortlessly puzzle herself through the small doorway. The two cursing men that followed behind her weren’t as limber – they were about the same size as Draug. The two giants were impossible to distinguish on anything other than the color of their buckled breastplates – both of them had lost their hair, and had identical faces that looked equally ready to crush bones. Minerva was not keen on either of them, especially not since their menacing eyes glared at Titania.

Lastly, a young boy limped forward, hugging a bow in his thin arms.

For a silent moment, all five of the newcomers stopped by the entrance to the dungeons, their eyes shifting between themselves, Minerva’s squad and the windows. The woman with the shimmering hair was the first one to move, by putting her hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“Old sage Boah”, she smiled. “I told you there was still hope for Archanea.”

“I never stopped believing, dear child”, the sage said and dried a tear, leaving a smear of clean skin beneath the dirt. Then, his eyes turned to look straight at Minerva, and he bowed as deeply as his back allowed.

“Princess Minerva, no doubt”, he greeted her. “Thank you for calming your beast.”

“Titania isn’t a beast, thank you very much”, Minerva answered curtly. “She’s an intelligent being and she followed her duties perfectly well.”

Those weren’t the most welcoming words she could have met them with, but politeness didn’t come easy for her on the battlefield. The woman in the group merely laughed, however, and it softened Minerva’s grip around Hauteclere. She sounded so much like Est.

“I’m not alone in taking offense if someone insults my mount, Boah”, the woman chuckled at the old man beside her, before she too bowed her head at Minerva. “I am Midia, a paladin of Archanea and personal guard of the princess Nyna. This is the High Sage and royal councillor, lord Boah.” She gestured towards the old man, who bowed again.  
“These two giants are Dolph and Macellan. They don’t talk much.” The two knights looked away from Titania and grunted as a greeting.

“I’m Thomas”, the small archer introduced himself, peeking forward from behind the giants.

No one in Minerva’s squad moved or spoke, the room returned to a confused, tense silence. Minerva slowly sheathed Hauteclere.

If Maria had sent them, they probably weren’t dangerous. They had clearly been locked away from sun and proper food, so the part of them being imprisoned Archanean knights she could believe. But what was she to make of them apart from that?

 _Well_ , Minerva thought. _At least something’s happening_.

“Reinforcements are welcome”, she finally said, crossing her arms. “Pleasure to meet you. But as a Commander, my interest is in how many of you are able to fight. You have no proper armor and frankly, you look ready to topple over. Should you need to stay behind, say so now, please.”

“The League gave us weapons”, the archer Thomas answered immediately. Minerva tapped her finger against the back of her gauntlet.

“Yes, I can _see_ that. What I asked was if you can physically use them.”

It was Midia who answered. “We’ve been imprisoned for six months, your highness. We’re a bit winded, but we will fight to protect Archanea. On broken bones, if we have to. Prince Marth has the blessing of princess Nyna, so we will stand by him, who in turn ordered us to follow you.”

 _Thank you for that, Marth_ , Minerva thought tiredly. _Leave it for me to solve this._

“Why’d you even ask about fighting”, the archer interjected again with a sharp glare out into the still hall. “Your squad don’t seem to do any actual battle here, anyway.”

Minerva had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at him. “You’d be correct, soldier. Our purpose is to stand guard, so let’s pray it stays this calm, yes?” She drew a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders, let her arms fall to the sides. “Midia. You join me in guarding the smaller entrances.”

Minerva didn’t wait or look for any acknowledgement, she shifted her attention to the two identical knights. “You two, stand with Draug at the opposite gate.”

Minerva caught Draug grinning at the heavily armored knights by the dungeon entrance. As the two Archanean knights walked up to him, he gave them each a welcoming pat on their shoulders. For that moment, they formed a frighteningly massive human wall.

“Archer”, Minerva continued, since she’d already forgotten his name, “you stand with Ogma and Cord. And High Sage...” She paused, looked closely at the old man. His head was trembling slightly from the effort of standing upright, his pale skin both dry and freckled by rashes.

“Go sit down somewhere, please”, Minerva said, after another moment's silence. “We’ll call if we have need of you.”

“Had I been younger, I would have protested”, the sage smiled and rubbed his back. “But now, I thank you, princess.”

Minerva merely nodded. She had been prepared for enemy ambushes, not new allies. She welcomed the change, but their value as a distraction didn’t last forever. As soon as the small gathering by the dungeon entrance broke apart, Minerva’s thoughts began its restless squirming anew.  _You should fight, damn you – Maria will be killed otherwise – it’ll be on you – orders be damned, just go—_

Minerva leaned her back against the marble pillar in the hall’s center again, held her gaze steady on the two doorways leading to unknown places of the castle.

“Your sister is a kind soul, your highness”, she heard Midia say from behind her. “You must be so proud. She made sure we were set free, she even had her entire troop stop to make sure old Boah’s and Thomas’ infected sores were healed.”

Minerva didn’t let her gaze sway from the small doors, but she wasn’t really seeing them at all. A chill travelled through her.

“She reminds me of myself when I was younger”, Midia continued on. “She wouldn’t hear it when I insisted that their advance was more important than us. She doesn’t look like the commanding sort, but neither do I, I suppose. Pity I had no time to thank her.”

Midia leaned into Minerva’s vision, and Minerva had no other choice but to move her gaze to look at her. “You might not look too similar, but I can definitely tell that you’re sisters. It’s the brow, I think.”

Minerva wouldn’t have minded Midia’s company in any other place. There was so much of Est in her way of speech, but it was quite absurd for Minerva to hear a stranger’s small talk on the battlefield, albeit a calm one.

“Did you see if she was hurt?” Minerva asked her. She couldn’t get rid of the commanding tone in her voice, but didn’t particularly care. Midia did not seem to mind, she only leaned back a little, supported by her lance.

“She showed no signs of discomfort”, Midia answered her. “At least not to me. They must have gotten past our many Dolunan guards almost unscathed – from the sound of things, the League took them by surprise. No one expected an advance through the dungeons, not even us prisoners.”

 _At least that’s something_ , Minerva tried to console herself, but it didn’t bring her much calm. Her fingers prickled with the desire to tear at the castle walls, demolish them stone by stone.

She could tell that Midia was about to say something else, but her leaning closer to Minerva was interrupted by a sharp yell from the entrance.

“Oi!”

Minerva immediately flung Hauteclare free from the sheath on her back, and her eyes shot toward the great entrance gate.

“Red princess commander! E’eryone! C’mere!” It was Cord who had cried out, and Minerva was already moving toward him with Hauteclare held low. She looked over Cord’s shoulder, through the two gaping holes of the outer and inner ward’s gates. From that angle, she could glimpse the main street of the capital, and her shoulders stiffened slightly at the sight.

Dozens of paladin’s galloped toward the main gate, wearing dented Dolunan armor.

“Those the old buddies o’ yours we were half-expecting, commander?” Cord asked, his voice grave.

Minerva didn’t have to look too closely before she could nod. She’d wandered aimlessly around those faces for long enough to know them when she saw them.

“That’s the Dolunan invasion force aimed for Talys, all right”, she answered through tense jaws. “And they don’t look too interested in bargaining with us.”

“They sure don’t”, Draug agreed from above them. “It looks like they’ve had to deal with other skirmishes before this.”

The League wasn’t the only rebel force afoot anymore; small civilian groups in Archanea now rallied against Doluna, knowing that liberation was close enough to fight for.

 _Fight.  
_ Minerva’s thoughts finally arranged themselves in a comprehensive order, doubt and worry pushed away by the battle fires in her heart.

She estimated the distance and speed of the enemy cavalry. Her squad had no time for anything fancy, but enough to sortie.

“Bar the door”, she commanded, while backing away. “Draug, Macellan and, ah, _you_ , keep it closed for as long as you can.”

The three giant knights immediately slammed the broken door together, supporting it with their own bodies.

Minerva’s eyes darted to the one next in line. “Archer – _Thomas_ , right? – stand behind the closest pillar and end as many of them as you can when they break through. Slow them down for us.”

She spoke louder, to reach the three soldiers that stood the farthest away. “Midia, Cord, Ogma – you each have different advantages and disadvantages from your weapons. When the enemy enters, engage them but cover each other’s backs. They outnumber us, so we need to outmaneuver them. We mustn’t let them enter the dungeons, be it on our lives. My wyvern and I will guard the entrance to the stairs down, flank the enemy if they get close.”

Lastly, Minerva turned toward the sage who sat on a polished bench in the corner. “Sage”, she called out, “do you cast magic?”

The sage rose, his legs barely supporting him. Minerva had no time to feel sympathy.

“I can”, he called back. “Although not much, in my current state.”

Minerva nodded. “Whatever you can do is enough.”

Her words were followed by violent bangs against the wooden doors, and all three giants grunted in the effort to keep them up.

Minerva scrambled for Titania’s reins, but before she mounted, she lay a hand on the wyvern’s chin while looking into her keen eyes.

“We go again”, Minerva said, her voice somehow both coarse and soft. “I got your back, and you got mine, yeah?” The wyvern growled in acknowledgement and pushed back against her hand.

Minerva responded with a pat on her neck, and just as she’d mounted, another great bang echoed across the hall. She took a firmer grip on the haft of Hauteclare.  
From the left of her, she heard a bowstring creak.

One of the identical knights hoisted his lance over the edge of the door and stabbed the iron tip into the eye one of the enemy paladins. Another enemy knight’s horse reared, and its front hooves splintered the door further, and in the next, the wood broke entirely. Draug used his piece of the door one last time to push two horses back. A violent crack, louder than the bangs on the doors, followed. That was the sound of bones breaking, Minerva knew that well enough, but she had no time to determine who or what had broken.

An arrow whirred away from behind the pillar to the left of Minerva. It smacked into a horse’s chest and was immediately followed by another that hit the stones of the doorframe.

The three giant knights still held firm, even without the splintered door in front of them. They blocked enough of the gate so that the enemy that did break past them only could manage to come in twos, where Ogma, Cord or Midia could engage them, or where Minerva could pluck them with a throwing axe. Arrows still steadily smacked into the paladins. Not many were killing shots, but projectiles rarely were for a non-flier.

The three knights by the entrance could hold out no longer, they had to back away or be trampled. The enemy hurled themselves inside, and some odd part of Minerva’s mind still registered and recognized most of their faces, even in the violent mess of battle.

They were the people who had thought of her as broken and done. People who had thought of her as a weak, wandering nuisance rather than a threat.  
She’d prove to them just how wrong they’d been.

Hauteclere cut and crushed without her conscious commands – her muscles knew the exact way to move, reacting quicker than the process of thought.  
In the corner of her eye, she saw a lance paladin attempt a stab at the archer Thomas. It was close enough for Minerva to split both lance and horse’s head, and the rider fell haplessly to the floor, no time to scramble for a new weapon before Titania broke him in her jaws.

Thomas didn’t give any sign of gratitude, but Minerva liked him all the better for it. He might not have been nice to speak to, but at least he had a wholehearted focus on his task. He quickly aimed for a new target and shot, hitting the captain’s horse and grounding him.

Minerva had cleared three enemy knights so far, but four more aimed to take their place. Minerva chucked away a throwing axe at them. It chirred at the helmet of one of them, nothing else. An arrow hit one of the sword paladins as he galloped toward them, and he doubled over. Minerva aimed for him first.

Titania was a blackish-green blur below Minerva as she reared and toppled both horse and rider. She was about to bite him to death, but the knight behind the one she’d toppled slammed his axe into her face, stopping her.

Two furious roars became one voice. Titania threw her head back in pain, while Minerva stood in the saddle and dived toward the enemy knight. She struck him down without a sliver of grace – she tore through the enemy’s visor, crushing more than she cut.

The last sword paladin stabbed at Minerva’s back, and its tip scraped against her armor’s right hinges. She spun around in a vicious turn, and the sword cut into her left arm. She barely felt it. All that mattered was that her axe met its goal.

She got no time to breathe; the last remaining knight came toward her from the left, with a bloodied axe.

The ways of the battleaxe were more familiar to her than her own name, and she saw his intended strike before he’d barely begun it. She answered with the momentum from the last hit, and thrashed through the armor of the last remaining opponent of hers.

Her eyes burned as she sat upright to scan the rest of the hall for anyone else close enough to kill. There was none.

The fighting had eased. She saw the light from a weak flare of fire magic hit one paladin, stopping him in his tracks before Midia impaled him with her lance. Other enemies were scattered, engaged in battles they were clearly losing.

She noted that no arrows had whistled through the air for a time. She glanced toward Thomas’ pillar, and saw him lying on the side, his face toward the pillar. He looked as though he’d tried to run, which was what archers did when enemies came to close, but the last axe paladin must have caught up to him. His chest was cut open like the fabric of his tunic.

 _Could I have prevented this?_ Minerva asked herself her eyes fixed on the body. _Couldn’t I have protected him better?_

She had no enemy in sight, so she dared to dismount and step toward the pillar. Her armored leather boots made soggy sounds as she walked closer and bent over the body. She crouched and put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t move, but was still warm. Perhaps it wasn’t too late, if a healer could—

A shadow dimmed her sight.

She saw it before she heard Titania’s bulge of warning, and reacted without thinking. She threw herself backwards.

A longsword slammed into the ground, just a hair away from Minerva. Her head hit a metal-clad leg, and instinct told her to grab hold of it.  
She used her grip to push herself even further away, and narrowly avoided yet another stroke of the sword.

This wasn’t good. She needed to get up to have a chance—

She kicked out at the back of the knee of her opponent. Whoever it belonged to grunted in pain, and she took the chance to scramble up with the help of the pillar, still with Hauteclere in one hand. Before she could assess her opponent, Titania’s head shot out from beside her like a projectile.

The wyvern’s head was bleeding from the earlier hit, and the blood got in the way of her sight. She attempted to down Minerva’s attacker with a butt of her head, but missed by far. Her charge turned to nothing but a wild wave in the air.

The attacker’s sword aimed for Titania's exposed throat, but Minerva stepped in between with the full force of Hauteclare as a parry. She hoped the sword wielder wasn’t quick enough to counter.

The sword got caught in the proximal hook of the axe, and it locked them both. Titania scrambled backwards, and Minerva took the chance to disarm her attacker with a twist to the right, but her enemy held fast. Although he had to take a great step to the side to keep his sword and still avoid Titania’s jaws, and that forced him to stand with his back against the pillar. Minerva followed suit and stepped in opposite him. She wouldn’t let him regain control of his blade. Hauteclere held it locked with the tip pointing toward the floor, and for a moment, none of them moved.

For the fraction of a breath, Minerva looked into the face of the captain of the Talys invasion.

“ _Traitor_ ”, the captain snarled, strained to push himself away from the pillar and force her to release his sword.

It was quite a challenge to face a longsword on the ground like that, and when Minerva felt herself lose control over his blade, she improvised and tackled her pauldron into his throat. She silently cursed at herself for leaving herself open – if she’d been sparring with Palla, Minerva was certain that the knight would scold her for such a reckless attempt, especially when her own life was on the line.

Then again, bloodied battlefields were different from a simple spar.

Minerva heard something crack as her pauldron connected with the enemy captain’s throat and locked him against the pillar. The captain gave up on getting his sword loose, and let go of it with a gargle. He waved his arms in a desperate attempt to push her away.

He hit her face, and her teeth rattled. His left hand found her throat, tried to take hold of it while the nails of his right hand searched for her eyes, scratched into her skin. It hurt, and her head felt a bit dim from his grip over her windpipe.

But she didn’t back away.

With her right hand, she scrambled for her throwing axes, but she only found the hilt of her small hunting dagger. Whatever had an edge would do.

She shoved the blade into his throat.

She wasn’t aiming properly; she just kept digging it deeper, twisting it in an attempt to cut. It wasn’t meant for killing, the edge was too dull to slice through muscle, only tore the skin open.

“No”, the captain gargled, and his nails dug deeper into her face. “You die, not I—“

A lance brushed past Minerva’s arm, finishing with ease what Minerva’s small knife struggled with.

The captain’s hands cramped, before they finally let go, and he fell to the floor.

“Princess Commander”, Midia said breathlessly from behind her. “It’s done.”

Minerva inhaled sharply through her teeth. She laid her hand against the gashes in her face, her eyes sweeping the hall.

 

Midia was right. The Dolunan reinforcements lay scattered and unmoving on the floor, their mounts either dead or gravely wounded. There was no more movement from the splintered gate, and not a sound in the air except for the ragged breathing of the rear squad.

All breathing, except for one.

“Who killed Thomas, princess?”

So he was dead then. Minerva fixed her eyes on the small body, once again asking herself what she could have done. She’d taken on three of the paladins at once, but that one out of the four that she didn’t keep busy had been enough. Should she have asked Thomas to stay behind more, as she’d asked of the sage?

Her fingers slowly turned cold, and she sheathed Hauteclere with a sick feeling in her stomach. One question burning at the front of her thoughts: How could she expect to protect Maria, when she couldn’t even protect a fellow soldier?

“She killed him, I think”, she answered, waving vaguely at one of the axe paladins she’d split apart. She didn’t know why it mattered. Thomas was dead anyhow. A weight pushed against her chest, something dark and warm. Minerva’s arms instinctively hugged it close, and she got a sad hum in response.

She looked down, and was met by her first proper look at Titania’s injury. The gash was deep enough to show the bone of her skull, and was lined by a fresh, greenish red mass of clotted blood. The wyvern’s face clanked against her breastplate, and she let out another pained gruff.

“Oh”, was all Minerva could say, nearly choking. “Oh, no. Lie down, Titania.”

She sat down herself as she said it, and Titania followed, rested her head in Minerva’s lap with a groan. Minerva stroked her muzzle, didn’t know what else to do.

“Just lie still”, she whispered.

She wished she could sit there alone, shut out the world around her, but that wasn’t how a commander handled things. With tears pushing at her throat, she turned her head to look back at Midia. The Archanean knight’s eyes were reddened, but she stood proud.

“We were lucky to not all die, right?” She said it as if to console herself, say that the loss of her friend was not the worst outcome. Minerva frowned and looked back on Titania.

“You all fought well”, was all she could come up with. “If it was luck or skill, it doesn’t matter. Those of us who made it, made it. I’m sorry, Midia.”

 _I tried to protect him. I did. I did._ She blinked, couldn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong with her. _Or did I? Did I really?_

She’d been distracted from the first second Maria was gone from her sight, try as she might have to resist it – her thoughts hadn’t been in the moment, not even with the battle fire in her heart. She was sure she could have predicted the axe that had hurt Titania, certain that she would have noticed the captain’s attempt at a surprise attack, and most of all she couldn’t let go of the thought that she should have seen the other axe paladin aim for Thomas – if only she had been focused enough.

_I failed them all, didn’t I?_

Behind Midia, the figures of all others in the rear squad took shape. She merely stared at them, at first.  _Get yourself together_ , she hissed at herself. _Act like a bloody commander_.

“You fought so well, all of you”, Minerva repeated, in case they hadn’t heard her when she spoke to Midia. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but that was at least enough to ease their tense shoulders somewhat.

Draug gave her a tired smile, Ogma a nod. Cord had taken interest in one of the axe paladin’s weapons, and just waved dismissively. The two identical knights were as unexpressive as usual, while the sage Boah didn’t look at Minerva. He crouched by Thomas’ body, stroking his hair.

“Thomas fiercely believed in Archanea’s freedom”, Boah said solemnly. “He was close to dying in the dungeons, so I’m grateful he was given a second chance. That he could die fighting for what he believed in. Although I’d prefer if it were me.”

They stood in silence, Midia drying her nose on her dirty sleeve repeatedly, but not making a sound. It was only Titania’s deep breaths that broke the silence in intervals, and Minerva stroked her head almost obsessively.  _Thank you for protecting me_ , she wanted to say through the touch. _I am so, so sorry you were hurt._

None of them moved from their rest. Ogma was the only one keeping watch over the entrance gate, but he’d taken a seat with his back against another marble pillar.

 

Minerva didn’t know how much time passed before they finally heard steps from the dungeon stair. She tensed, ready to fight again – but the voice that came from the stair was familiar.

“Volzhin has fallen”, echoed from the dungeons. “We’ve _won_! Red squad, are you there?”

Draug straightened, and moved toward the door with a grin.

“Cain!” he shouted back down the stairway. “We’re here, we hear you!”

The red knight’s head popped out from the door a few seconds later, smiling broadly.

“Hey, all – _we’ve won_ ”, he repeated.

Boah dropped to his knees, Midia crouched beside him.

“Then... Archanea is free...” The sage’s eyes were set on something distant, a look of disbelief on his face. Midia smiled through her teary eyes, and put an arm over his shoulders.

“Frey, Abel and Cadea are scouting the rest of the castle as we speak”, Cain explained to them. “So we haven’t cleaned out all the pests yet, but soon, probably. They should be coming ‘round and out of that door to the great hall any time now—“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before the door slammed open, revealing a bloodstained Caeda leading Abel and Fray into the room.

“Well, yes, as I said, then”, Cain stammered and cleared his throat, still smiling. He waved at Abel, and Abel gave a small smile in return.

Caeda moved toward them, and stopped at the edge of the half-circle surrounding the floor around the dungeon entrance. Minerva held Caeda’s gaze, but didn’t rise. She sat with her legs crossed, Titania’s heavy head in her lap.

“Hello, Minerva”, Caeda greeted her uncertainly. That must have been the first time she didn’t address Minerva as _princess_ , but Minerva had no energy to think of it further. Caeda’s eyes travelled slowly over the corpses wearing bloodstained Dolunan ochre. “You were keeping busy, I see.”

“Quite busy, yeah”, Minerva answered tonelessly. “Now you won’t have to worry about any invasion of Talys.”

She wasn’t sure if she meant it as a lighthearted statement, or if she just spoke for the sake of it. Caeda’s look of uncertainty didn’t diminish, but she gave a nod to be polite, at least. No one else said anything, there was a heaviness in the air aside from the usual one – the heaviness of formal mannerisms. No one would readily interrupt a conversation between two princesses.

Minerva stroked Titania’s chin, could feel the throbbing of her pulse beneath it. She bit down in anger at her own incompetence, then fixed her gaze more intently on Caeda. “How’s Maria?”

That was and remained the most important question of all. Losses be damned.

Caeda surprised her with a small smile. “She’s doing great”, she answered her. “I dare say, we couldn’t have done this invasion half as smoothly if it hadn’t been for her leading the way so tirelessly. And she saved my squad a few burns. I won’t steal her story from her, but well, she hit Volzhin over the head with her staff to protect us.” Caeda smiled wider, unaware how cold nausea spread inside Minerva’s chest.

“She’s fearless”, Caeda continued. “That must be running in the family.”

Minerva didn’t answer. She merely let down her gaze, tried to focus on the wyvern’s breathing rather than her own in the hopes to drown out the fear that clawed at her throat.


	43. Long Live the Empress

Lena was the one who came around to heal Titania’s and Minerva’s wounds, and was also the one to take Thomas’ body away.  
Thomas was to be alone on the cremation pile. No one else had fallen that day.

The nagging feeling of being insufficient wouldn’t leave Minerva alone. The spot where Thomas had died pricked at her neck.

 _You could have done better._ Her thoughts throbbed at her temples like muffled yells inside her mind.

The people of her squad left in packs, but she stayed in the entrance hall. Thankfully, no one bothered her about it. She wanted a few precious moments to breathe before the chaos would _truly_ begin.

Battles were an untidy frenzy, but at least Minerva found them simple. The web of politics, on the other hand, was too much of a mess for her. The League's, especially. These people knew the importance of diplomacy, a stark contrast to the violent ways of the Dolunan armies.  
Minerva wished she could be, but she was no diplomat worthy of the name. She wasn’t sure what she could provide in this chaos. She’d probably just be in the way. Although perhaps it would be a bold stance to take, if she were to stand visibly by Marth’s side in her Macedonan red and gold while all of Archanea looked on. But she wasn’t feeling very bold at the moment.

All she wanted was to see Maria’s face.

Minerva had no energy to run about and look for her, though. She knew she’d get lost within the giant palace as soon as she stepped out of the entrance hall, so she merely rested against the wall with Titania lying half-asleep beside her.

As she’d predicted, the chaos of cleaning up after a victory soon unfolded around her. Soldiers ran across the hall in intervals, some dragging corpses away, some running into the town to spread the word, others moved back to the camp to escort the princess Nyna back to her home. Minerva was a simple spectator to it all.

\---

When Nyna’s escort entered the city, Minerva had a clear view of the capital’s main street, and she followed their advance with lukewarm interest. The old sage Boah was at the front of the escort, bellowing the message that the rightful princess had returned.

Minerva could see how heads popped out of their windows, how bars were removed from doors, and how children began to line the house walls, pointing wide-eyed at their princess. Some of them must have been born during the six-year war, knowing nothing else but unrest. Minerva leaned her head back and supported herself against the outline of the gate.

She let her gaze wander until it reached the lintel of the outer ward’s gate, where from she couldn’t look away. There, four wisps of rope with lichen growing in its folds swayed in the wind. The ropes were cut short, the bodies they’d strung up taken away to burn or rot.

 _An emperor. An empress. Two princes._  
_A family._

Anger flared inside Minerva at the memory. Helpless anger.

 

She didn’t think any of her movements through. She pushed herself away from the wall, and picked up one of the enemy’s lances laying stacked in the corner. She walked brusquely with the steel lance in hand and stopped under the arch of the outer ward’s gate.

She was visible to half the capital, now. She didn’t care to hide. She didn’t care if her actions would affect the later diplomatic matters. All she cared about was to see those cursed traces of the past be gone.

She stabbed the lance into where the leftmost rope was fastened into the lintel. It was a thick material, and damp from the weather, but she tore at it, sawed and tore again until it snapped. It thumped down beside her feet.

Minerva repeated the same for the other three ropes, the reek of unfair death leaving her guts in a knot.

 

Perhaps the ropes didn’t matter. Nyna had seen enough of death already, despite never being on the battlefields.

But it mattered to Minerva. Doluna’s poison weeds had to be pulled up by the roots – she’d see them all erased from living memory. She didn’t have to stand quietly and watch them spread, anymore.

 

Nyna had gotten almost halfway to the palace by the time Minerva was done. Cheers from down the streets had spread, at first quiet and unsure, but now the sky swarmed with chants of joy as the city finally awoke from its gloomy slumber.

Minerva held all four ropes in her arms. She was about to turn around, but she couldn’t look away from Nyna’s march just yet. In the next moment, she locked eyes with the princess heir.

Minerva couldn’t possibly figure out what moved inside the mind of the Archanean princess as she saw the ropes in Minerva’s arms. She was too far away for Minerva to judge her expression, but Minerva could see how the princess clasped her hands and turned her face away.

It didn’t matter much, whatever it meant. Minerva didn’t expect any gratitude or warm smiles for this small, worthless deed. It wouldn’t take away any of Nyna’s sorrow, and it wouldn’t bring anyone she loved back. But it was all Minerva could do.

Voices came from every corner of the city, now.

Happy laughter. Cheers. Tears. Blessings.

_Long live the Empress._

Minerva cast the lance to the side, and walked back into the palace’s entrance hall.

\---

As the escort entered the hall, Nyna stopped for a moment to look around. Her face was pale, and her eyes avoided Minerva’s. She stood unmoving for almost a minute before she wordlessly continued toward the throne room.

Minerva stood in the middle of the hall, now. Soldiers worked to keep the curious mass of people away from the gate of the outer ward, other soldiers ran back and forth around the castle perimeter, their duties a mystery to Minerva.

She’d cast the ropes into the pile of broken weapons, but she still felt their greasy presence on her hands. Nothing stained a soul like the lives of the innocent, taken without mercy. And she’d had a part in their deaths.  _A family. Gone._

She was just about to leave the cursed hall – if she got lost, so be it – but when she turned around, Maria came running out from the great hall opposite the entrance gate. She bumped into Minerva and grabbed a hold of her arm, squealing excitedly.

“There you are”, she giggled, and shook her arm with another delighted squeal. “Minerva! We’ve _won_!”

Minerva could only stare down at her.

Maria was whole, cleaner than any other soldier Minerva had seen, and her smile was spread wide.  _She’s alive_. Minerva’s hovering thoughts landed like a heap of cloth in her mind. _She’s unharmed. She’s all right._

Yet, her body couldn’t relax; even Maria’s bundle of energy couldn’t loosen her stiffness. Minerva had to press out her words. “Thanks to you, I heard.”

“Nah”, Maria laughed and gently swung Minerva’s arm back and forth. “Everyone else did the real work. I just helped when I could.”

Minerva stood motionless. She should attempt a smile, but she couldn’t get rid of the horrifying feeling that she could have ended up like Nyna this day. _Alone. Family gone._  
She was a fool, Maria was standing right in front of her, and yet—

“I thought you promised not to do anything dangerous”, Minerva said, her voice so damnably toneless, even now. “But Caeda told me you _hit_ the general himself? What were you _thinking_?”

Maria blinked once, and let go of Minerva’s arm. She couldn’t have expected such scolding words, not after this near perfect victory. Her smile faltered.

“It wasn’t dangerous”, Maria objected. “Magic doesn’t affect me like it does everyone else, and this general was all magic, no muscle. Like me, you know? I just... I wanted to give Caeda an opening to stab him. Plus, I wanted him to quit his boasting and sneering. If I would’ve been burned, so be it – I could have endured that.”

Minerva wanted so badly to be angry. She wanted to yell at Maria to stop her overconfident will to prove herself, to stop yearning for other’s safety before her own.  
But, she convinced herself with a deep breath, it would do nothing but break both their hearts. _Although was two broken hearts not better than the risk of losing her?_ No. Maria wouldn’t stop simply because Minerva yelled at her about it, of that she was certain, but why did the image of Nyna’s lonely gaze not disappear from her mind—

Her eyes teared up; she couldn’t help it. Maria put her fingers against Minerva’s arm again, unsurely.

“Wait, you… You’re angry with me.”

Nothing escaped Maria. When they were children, Maria was always the one to notice when Minerva’s mood shifted. That hadn’t changed, even after their years apart.

Minerva wiped her eyes, and a frustrated grunt escaped her.

“No”, she forced out. “Not with you.”

Maria’s fingers hugged her sleeve. “Then what?”

Minerva shook her head and shrugged, afraid that speaking would crumble her restraint.  _I could have done better. Our success shouldn’t have cost us a life today._

“The castle, I guess”, she finally said. “I’m angry at the bloody castle. That I couldn’t follow and protect you. Scared me. I couldn’t stop thinking about how you could come to harm, couldn’t bear the thought. That might have... caused my squad unnecessary pain.”

Maria’s head shot back, and she let go of Minerva to rest her hands on her hips.

“Seriously”, she breathed, then she raised her voice slightly. “ _Seriously_ , sister?”

She stood quietly for a moment, before she breathed in with a hiss and leaned further forward. “How do you think _I_ feel, already knowing that you don’t hesitate to throw yourself at a dragon’s face or jump into a sea of people swinging sharp blades all around you? And now you say that you might not even think about your own safety when you do, but _mine_ – even when I’m not _there_?”

Minerva’s stiffness ran off her the moment Maria raised her voice, and now she stood with her eyes wide.

“But Maria... Fighting is what I always do. What I’ve always done.”

Maria let out a silent groan, and sighed. “Fair enough. I haven’t done _this_ —”, she gestured out toward the bloodstained hall,”—for as long as you have, but that doesn’t matter! I stepped down into those dungeons today because I believed in you and in your experience as a fighter, but you’d be a fool if you think I didn’t fear for you, too. Even with your missions at the northern border, you were always the one coming home with new scars and new broken limbs and your first question would be if _I_ was well – and now you do it all over again! You’re not _invincible_!”

Maria crossed her arms and let out another sigh. “You’re not invincible, damn you”, she repeated, and there were small tears in the corner of her eyes.

“You...” Minerva’s mouth had gone dryer. “You’re saying... that you worry about _me_?”

Minerva could vaguely remember the glints of worry in Maria’s young eyes, back when Minerva ventured out as a knight the first few times. But those anxious glints had eventually disappeared, hadn’t they?

A small laugh escaped Maria, and she shook her head. “I thought that was obvious.” Then, her little smile faltered again. “Sister. I need you to _trust_ me. If you doubt me, and that causes your mind to be elsewhere – and you get _hurt_ because of it... I don’t want that. I know, this is scary; I’m scared too, but... I can’t stand by and do nothing, you know I can't. I have to learn to be strong. Not tomorrow, but _now_.”

 _Learn to be strong_. Maria wasn’t the small child squealing excitedly over fox cubs anymore. She wasn’t a soldier, and Minerva hoped she’d never have to be, but she was something in between, something difficult to recognize. Est had been a young child when she’d seen her first battlefield, but she’d been attuned to that thought for so long, growing up under master Pilas’ and her sister’s protection – Maria was different.

Something in between. Clearly capable, and brave, and selfless. A better person than Minerva could ever be.

“I do trust you”, Minerva said, and she tasted no trace of a lie on her words. “It’s just... that the _world_ is...”

Maria tilted her head, and Minerva couldn’t help how the sight brought a slight smile to her lips. She didn't trust the world, but perhaps that didn't matter. She'd have to put her faith where it could make a difference. She finally shrugged, and her voice was much lighter when she spoke.

“Never mind”, Minerva smiled at her sister. “I suppose I’m saying that we both have to gain from keeping close to each other. If we have to part ways in battle, then I promise I’ll keep my wits about me. I won’t stop charging at dragons, I don’t think. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll depend on you to stay with me even then. So we can both protect each other, without worry.”

Minerva might still not be fully able to do that without her mind screeching out its fears, but doubts had no place in the middle of battle. She’d known that since her very first skirmish, but she’d have to relearn that lesson again and again until she was used to the idea of Maria as a part of the army.

Maria straightened her head, and let out another laugh. “Yes”, she giggled. “That sounds perfect. It's settled. I'll watch out for you, big sister.”

"Suppose I got nothing to fear, then", Minerva chuckled.

Relief settled between them, and Minerva’s mind returned to the wonderful, quiet daze she recognized so well by now. The daze of home. But after only a few moments, Maria broke the stillness by slowly pointing her thumb over her shoulder.

“You should know”, she said, “Nyna is about to ascend the throne already. She’ll hold a speech in front of her people on the royal balcony, soon. I’d like to be there.”

“Of course”, Minerva smiled at her, a real, full smile this time. “They couldn’t possibly start without you, their battle hero.”

Maria exhaled in a scoff, but the flush on her cheeks was definitely derived from pride.

 

They began their walk to the throne room together, and Titania opened one of her eyes to see if Minerva wanted her to follow, but Minerva signalled at her to stay. The wyvern returned to her slumber with a content sigh.

Minerva placed her arm over Maria’s shoulders as they walked, and nudged her with her hip.

“Soo, little candle, do you mind telling me the full story of this Volzhin-brawl of yours?” she teased. Maria’s eyes shone as a playful smile spread over her face.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask”, she giggled. “He was pretty nasty, this Volzhin. He went on and on about the might of his magic, ‘ _writhe in the fires of Bolganone_ ’”, she imitated in a deeper voice, waving her free arm for emphasis as she let out a quiet chuckle.

“Bolganone was a scary-looking kind of fire magic, though”, she continued, more seriously. “So I suppose it was fair enough that he acted high and mighty. I was glad you weren’t there, because it really hurt people. The fire spread around him, then sunk into the earth, and could just reappear on the other side of the room. There was no way to know who he aimed for. Fray and Marth got burnt, but they’re fine now, I made sure of it. In any case, that Volzhin stood in front of the throne and called us all faithless dogs, and he was so _rude_ to Caeda – he said he’d march her corpse to Talys as he burned her kingdom down.”

“He wasn’t promoted to general for being likeable, I suppose.”

“I just got so angry.” Maria chuckled and clutched her hand against her chest, her delight blending with timidity. “I decided I’d had enough when he tried to burn her squad, and waded through his stupid fire and hit him over the nose. Caeda did the rest.”

“I can’t believe it”, Minerva said and hugged her closer with her one arm, grinning down at her. “Am I a terrible person if I say I’m proud of you?”

Maria clasped Minerva’s hand on her shoulder, with a mischievous smile in return. “Only a _little_ terrible, sis. Only a little.”


	44. Next to Fall

“Our next target _must_ be Grust.”

The royals of the League had barely had enough time to find their places around the council room’s table before prince Hardin voiced his opinion. As he spoke, he turned the map on the council table toward him.

“Grust supplies the greatest amount of human soldiers to Doluna’s armies. My say is we leave as soon as we’ve managed to get the Millennium Court in order. If we take Grust down we will no longer be fighting uneven odds.”

“That might be a stretch.” Caeda was quick to respond, her soft eyes thoughtfully landing on Marth. “But you’re right in that we’ll have it considerably easier from there on out – that is _if_ we were to survive such an undertaking. I’d rather not waste our resources on such a gamble. We should at least think this through together, first.”

Prince Hardin dipped his brow at Caeda, as if saying ‘ _of course_ ’. He still leaned over the table though. Eager, confident. Their last victory had ignited a flame of energy within him, shining in stark contrast to Nyna and Marth by his side – both of whom looked ready to topple over. The hero of the League and the newly crowned empress had worked every waking hour for the last few days to settle Archanea’s affairs, and their endeavors showed no sign of ceasing. Nyna’s head carried her intricate crown with heaviness.

A fire sparked in the other end of the room. Minerva could feel its warmth through her linen tunic even though the furnace was a table’s length away, but no amount of homely fires could rid the stubborn chill from inside the Archanean palace’s chambers. Maria burrowed her chin into the simple fur coat she’d borrowed from Lena, and Nyna embraced herself with her lips a pale blue. Had the Dolunans never bothered to light the furnaces during their occupation of the palace?

They certainly hadn’t bothered with deploying any cleaning servants, that was for sure. The council room had thick layers of dust over its furniture and dried blood on the stone floor. It was as if no one had entered it since the day Minerva had visited it last, in what had been the Crimson Dragoon’s last official war meeting.

The room had been full of Doluna’s greatest generals, and their shapes stood like ghosts in the corners of Minerva’s vision even now. She could still feel their suspicious or murderous glances be passed around, she could still taste the unspoken questions that always hovered in the air. ‘ _Who will be the next to fall? Which one of us will be the next to die?_ ’ Each and every one of them telling themselves, ‘ _it won’t be me, it won’t be me_ ’. And if a chance came to throw another general into the fray in order to earn one more whisper of power, all were equally eager to take it.

Minerva’s eyes shot down. She wanted to escape those memories, shut them out – but she could still see claw marks on the far edge of the long table, where the commanding manakete had dug his fingers into the wood.

She clutched her fists, hated how the memory pushed the mask of the Crimson Dragoon back on her face. She couldn’t wait to leave this palace behind.

The royals around her did not seem half as uncomfortable as Minerva was. Although the sparks in Marth’s and Nyna’s eyes were dulled, their reason was most likely lack of sleep.

“Prince Hardin, I agree that it is tempting to strike Grust down”, Marth answered Hardin’s suggestion, straining to set his voice to the usual determined tone of his. “However, Caeda is right – we can’t afford to take water over our heads. Doluna’s allies might have lost their power over Archanea now, but our enemy’s resources are still abundant compared to ours. Both Grust and Macedon remain at their side, and while their armies might have taken a hit, our work so far has only managed to put a dent in their forces. What we need is to cut off as many of their resources and supply routes as we can. Macedon is their greatest asset there, as a rich supplier of ores – but facing them head-on would be equal to facing Grust, if not worse.”

Marth glanced at Minerva for a short moment, as if looking for confirmation for his statements. Minerva’s throat smarted as she nodded, a weak objection stuck at the base of her tongue.

 _Not only ore_ , she wanted to say. _Not only war. Silk. Furs. Masonry. Macedon has peaceful trades, too._

It was better if she didn’t speak. There had been a time when those things mattered, but that era had died with her father.

“My point is”, Marth continued, “that while it would be a great victory to sever the ties between the three kingdoms of power, we mustn’t forget Doluna’s fourth ally. It is _Gra_ that is the best at refining ore and creating desirable weapons, so Doluna dearly needs them – however, Gra is not a great military nation like Grust and Macedon. We have a good chance if we make our first move there. We weaken Doluna’s foundation, without too much risk for ourselves.”

Minerva noticed both Caeda and Maria nod, but she wasn’t so eager to join in. Gra was nothing in the grand scheme of things, just a collection of green cliffs in the middle of the Dolunan-Archanean gulf. Minerva couldn’t wait to finally be able to count Grust out of the equation, so that she wouldn’t have to worry about their masses of perfectly trained paladins, so that she could finally get inside their borders and begin the search that had ached at her mind for months.

 _Palla._ _Catria._ _Est._ Every moment they were separated, Minerva was letting them down. But what was there that she could realistically suggest in order to counter Marth’s argument?  
She _could_ say that if the League could just push through, perhaps such a display could win them the respect of Michalis, and Macedon would stand down peacefully to avoid further losses—

 _No_. She was a fool for even thinking it.

 _'Michalis will no sooner give up on his ambition than Doluna will theirs'_ , Lena had said to her. And Minerva knew her words were true.

She shouldn’t suggest such a thing, shouldn’t blatantly lie to her friends for such selfish reasons. She’d seen firsthand for six years how Grust’s troops operated, she knew it was too much of a risk.

And Palla would never forgive her if she died after all this time from sheer stupidity. But on the other hand, how could _Minerva_ forgive herself if she missed the chance of seeing Palla’s smile again, because of cowardice? Her stomach churned from the sudden thought, and she spoke as quickly as she could to distract her mind from it.

“Marth’s has a good point”, she said. Her tongue was heavy, and her heart stung as she spoke, but she continued.  _It is the right thing to do_.

“Gra truly isn’t as heavily fortified as Macedon or Grust”, she went on. “We never discussed it much at all during the Dolunan war councils.“

It tasted strange to still speak of Doluna as part of ‘ _we_ ’. It was in the past, but the lie of her loyalty still came to her like second nature.

“If Gra is their weak link, I’d agree that’s a good place to strike our next blow”, Caeda said, angling her head to look more intently at Marth beside her. “It would take us at least a week to march down to the shore, though. They’d have plenty of time to prepare for us.”

“Even so, it is our only choice.” Marth’s leather gauntlets creaked as he opened and closed his fists, his gaze repeatedly combing the map, searching for the perfect answer. “We need to keep moving, or Doluna will recover and aim to take the palace again – we can’t let that happen.”

“Sire, perhaps we could resolve this without violence”, Malledus suggested from the left of Marth. “We could try to strike a bargain with Gra before we invade – Altea and Gra were the closest of allies before this war, after all. Things might have changed since they took allegiance with Doluna.”

Marth’s gaze stopped, shivered without properly looking at anything. He didn’t seem to breathe.

“Yes, Malledus, they might have changed”, he whispered. “Though I will not repeat my father’s mistake. I will give King Jiol a chance to surrender when I see him face to face, not before. Jiol set his statement in stone when he stabbed my father – his _friend_ – in the back during a joint mission built on trust. Jiol set his statement when he had Gra invade my home in the number of thousands. I can’t bargain with him where he has the advantage.”

Marth words brought an unsettling chill with it. The world had robbed him of his family, friend had twisted into foe. Six years was not enough to heal such scars. Minerva could swear from her own experience that eternity might not be enough.

She vaguely remembered how Michalis had told her of Altea’s fall, on the same fateful day that her life changed. He’d displayed a proud smile when he’d spoken, eyes eager as he let Minerva connect the scattered dots in her mind.

She usually couldn’t think back to that day without her fingers itching for Hauteclere’s handle, but with Marth’s words came a sudden clarity.

The six-year war had claimed its first victims while Minerva was scouting the northern border, blissfully unaware of the world-changing actions set in motion around her.  
While poison ran through her father’s blood, she’d been searching for a new band of pillagers. Bandits that were so good at hiding, they didn’t even seem to exist.

And now it dawned on her, they _hadn’t_. They were never real.

 _Michalis wanted me gone_ , she realized, her eyes widening. _He planted the message to drive me off_.

Why hadn’t she understood this before?

_I must be the stupidest—_

“Minerva?” Maria poked her on the elbow with a quiet whisper. “Are you well?”

Minerva’s head shot back a little, and she flushed. She glanced down on Maria, mouthing ‘ _yeah, sorry_ ’ at her with a shaky smile. The voices around her had been raised, and Minerva hadn’t noticed – on the other hand, they hadn’t noticed her thoughts trailing away, either. Prince Hardin argued something, but it took her a few moments to catch on again.

“—be a detour, we’d lose more than we win! I understand your personal feelings on this matter, Prince Marth, but please don’t let those feelings cloud your judgement.”

Marth’s eyes darted away from the map, revealing an ember of anger.

“Thank you for _understanding_ ”, he said, his voice colder than usual. “I will not hide the fact that I’ve held hatred for Gra since the day they took all but my life – and that hate remains. But I don’t know what was going through King Jiol’s head as he betrayed us and I don’t know what the citizens of Gra think of his decision. I won’t let my hatred make me see my opponent as an enemy only. I suggest this invasion, not because of the pain they caused me, but because I believe it’s our best option. In no way is my judgement _clouded_.”

Prince Hardin lifted a hand. “Peace, my friend. I meant no offense. We all want to end this war, and I’m sorry for disagreeing with you, but I still don’t like your idea.”  
Marth had clutched his fists, but he slowly let them go and stretched his fingers.

“Then I hope this will convince you, my friend.” He kept his voice level, pushed the cold anger aside as he continued; “You see, the holy Falchion was last seen in the hands of King Jiol. He stole it from my father; Cain told me. It pains me to know it isn’t in its rightful place, and it pains me even greater since we _need_ that blade to have even a chance of winning this war. It was what slay the Dark Dragon, a thousand years ago. We can’t face him without it, and if we have to fight our way through more manakete, we need it _now_.”

Minerva drew a sharp breath. The holy Falchion, Altea’s greatest treasure. A weapon far greater than Hauteclere, the Shield of Iote or the Archanean regalias – it was a blessing created from Naga, the mightiest of the Divine Dragons, out of her own fang. Indestructible, and lethal to dragons.

Considering their enemy, they indeed needed it.

Minerva had noticed that Marth only used his rapier, or sometimes an old steel sword, but she had just assumed that the holy blade rested inside the Altean castle, where it was meant to be. Somewhere they could reach by liberating the last of Doluna’s conquests. To hear that dusty old _Gra_ had their claws on it came as quite the surprise, and she wasn’t alone in her mindset.

“Why would Gra have the Falchion?” Princess Nyna spoke for her first time during the meeting. “None other than Anri or his descendants can wield the blade fully. Marth and his family are the only ones left who can use it, so why?”

“I don’t think it’s about them wanting to wield it”, Marth said quietly. “The manakete are not their enemy. It’s to keep _us_ from utilizing its power.”

Prince Hardin put his head in his hands, sighing. “I cannot argue that”, he said. “I give in. We’ll go to Gra next. Vyland died facing that monster Khozen – I don’t want to lose any more of my trusted knights to creatures like him.”

They were silent for a moment, as if the agreement on their next goal needed no more words. The air got less tense, but Minerva’s heart still twisted uncomfortably. She had to remind herself once again that attacking Grust would gain them nothing. Doluna had had twenty-seven seasons to build their foundation – it wouldn’t fall as easily as Archanea had.

“I’m sorry for lifting the topic, but speaking of _manakete_ ”, Caeda interrupted the silence, and shot a meaning look at Minerva. “Will we face them on Gra, princess?”  
Minerva could only blink at the sudden attention.

 _I wish I had paid more mind during those dragged out Dolunan meetings_ , she cursed at herself. In the midst of all the tense air and generals butting heads with each other, _something_ was clearly being decided, but she hadn’t bothered to find out more than what affected her personally. Then again, she hadn’t forgotten that an improper twitch of the mouth had been enough to earn a clawed hand over the face. It was better for her to not dwell on another general’s orders, to not give them a reason to harm Maria.

She swallowed, and it stung like knives in her dry throat.

“I don’t know”, she said, trying her best to think back. “I doubt it. The manakete’s overarching problem has always been that they’re too few. They can’t fight the war alone, so to spread out all over the continent is even less of an option for them. They haven’t been sent to fortify Macedon; I would have paid attention if _that_ ever came up as a topic. I think they’re a rare sight in Grust as well. Doluna focuses on keeping their conquests more than they focus on protecting their allies. I don’t think they’d bother with Gra, but I can’t know for sure.”

She paused and drew a deep breath. “What I _do_ worry about is their close proximity to Macedon. Considering how my brother used to speak of Altea and Gra with distaste, I doubt he’d reinforce it. But I cannot pretend to predict his thoughts.”

 _He’s always been one step ahead_ , she thought, clenching her jaws. _That’s all I can claim to know._

“Some kind of reinforcement is bound to arrive”, Marth said. “For all we know, Doluna might have an entire legion stationed on Altea that can fortify Gra if the need arises. But we’ll just have to see when we get there.”

“I’d say our best possible path is travel straight down south from here and enter Gra from the northern sea”, Caeda concluded with her finger tracing their path through Archanea over the map, visibly eager to have this meeting done with. “This harbor is the closest. With western winds and no resistance, we’ll cross the gulf in two days. Let’s hope the captains of some ships are glad to aid the League and their empress for free, otherwise I think we have enough gold or supplies to spare to hire them, even though the royal treasury is all but raided here. We’ll arrive on the northern coast, and attack the capital from there.”

Maria let out a quiet huff, almost like a whimper, and pulled her padded cloak closer around her. Minerva frowned and looked at her, but had no time to ask if there was anything troubling her before the final words of agreement between the royals were exchanged and the meeting disbanded. Minerva couldn’t blame them for ending the council in a hurry, there were still an infinite number or Archanean affairs to settle. The old sage Boah who’d joined Minerva’s squad was proving to be a valuable asset as the former Emperor’s councillor – but even with him, no leader of the League was idle. No one, except Minerva and Maria.

Maria had been eager to help, but as Nyna had said, the Archanean people still had too many distressing memories from Macedon’s colors. It didn’t matter if two individuals proved themselves to be friends, in the people’s eyes, _children of Iote_ remained the enemy. It was better if they both stayed in the shadows.

Minerva couldn’t blame the Archaneans, they had every right to hate her and her kingdom. Minerva didn’t mind it much, either. She had other things on her mind at the moment.

 

She glanced to the side again. Maria’s eyes had grown distant, a look Minerva recognized from every time Maria came knocking on her tent wall in the middle of the night, telling her about her nightmares in disconnected sentences. A chill ran down Minerva’s spine, and she gently placed her left hand on her shoulder.

“Anything the matter?” Minerva whispered, earning a look of concern from Caeda who’d rolled the map together and was just about exit the room.

“No”, Maria said, the lie written on her face. “I mean, I just... I don’t like boats. But it’s nothing to worry about. We have to travel by sea, regardless of what I feel, I just... Don’t like them, is all.”

Minerva had no memory of being on a boat herself. Macedonans almost always crossed the skies rather than the ocean. So when would Maria have—?

_Divines._

“I think I understand why”, Minerva said, adjusting the coat around Maria’s chin. “It will not be the same this time, I promise.”

Caeda hovered by the table, spinning the map in her hands unsurely.

“I know”, Maria said. “But I fear my heart will relive the days I... The days... They wouldn’t let me walk above deck, I still thought... It was for the best, it wouldn’t be long. But I couldn’t stop being scared, they didn’t look at me directly, they didn’t answer my questions, I slept completely alone for the first time in my life— I don’t want to relive those days, I _don’t_ want to board a ship again, I don’t...”

Maria trailed away, but before Minerva could say anything Caeda placed the paper roll beside her and leaned over the table. She gave Maria one of her warm smiles, but the corners of her eyes were shimmering.

“Princess Maria, let me tell you something”, she said. “You are not alone.”

Maria looked at her in surprise, and Minerva arched a brow at her. A princess of Talys – an island who relied solely on the ocean for a living – with a fear of ships?

“My mother died on the ocean”, Caeda continued. “I used to love the smell of the waves and the creaking of the mast, but I refused to board a ship for so long after her death. I simply couldn’t. Until one day, I befriended a Pegasus in our stables, and realized I could enjoy the feeling of the ocean from above. I still prefer it to this day. When I travel by sea, I always follow the ship from the sky during the day and rest on the deck at night.” She smiled wider, and picked up the map again. “I’d love to have company this time.”

Maria regained some of the color in her face. “You’re offering me to fly with you when we cross the gulf?”

“I am.”

Maria’s eyes darted around, and she shook her head. “I... I don’t mean to be rude, but – thank you, but I can only feel safe on Titania or Tyra.”

Caeda raised her brows and looked at Minerva. “That’s certainly not rude, princess. Perhaps you could ride with your sister, should she prefer flying?”

Minerva couldn’t help but grin back at her. “It’s like asking me if I prefer to breathe.”

Caeda picked up the paper roll with a grin of her own.

“It’s settled then”, she said and playfully poked at Minerva with the map. “See you in the sky, Macedonans.”


	45. Land of Hunger

The air in the stables tasted bitterly of the tense anticipation from sixteen Grustian sky knights about to leave their station in Olbern Fortress.

Palla’s hands worked mechanically with fastening her saddle, but she stopped for a few moments in the middle of adjusting the stirrups. Something wasn’t right. The saddle sat loose, despite her tightening it just as usual.

Her stallion let out a slight sigh and turned his head to her. Grime had formed in the corner of his eyes, and they’d lost their keen glow.

Palla placed a trembling hand over his forehead, a small attempt at comfort, or perhaps, silence. She knew what those eyes were telling her, and she didn’t want them to say it.  
She had to tighten the saddle further than ever for it to sit properly. Nausea swam deep inside her, but she forced it away with a swallow.

_Don’t think about it._

She drew a deep breath, and readjusted her belt.

“We’re leaving for Gra within the hour”, Palla heard their Grustian captain yell into the stables.

Palla kept her hands on her belt, but closed her eyes for a moment.

She, just as every other sky knight in the Grustian force, had been rallied early in the morning with the news of the League’s march and Gra’s request for reinforcements. Catria had pulled her to her feet, and Palla had instinctively looked over her shoulder to the place where Est usually slept. The empty spot stabbed into her heart like thorns, even weeks after her vanishing.

Maybe, in a distorted way, it was better that she was gone. Palla would prefer Est to not have to partake in their next battle – this would be the third time they’d have to clash with the League, and Palla doubted they’d escape them in one piece again. Considering what Catria had told her, the rebels weren’t their enemy, and considering their massive feat of reclaiming the Archanean palace, they were only growing stronger. But Palla still had to face them – Grust was crumbling from the inside, yet they refused to back down. They were far too proud for mercy, far too proud for defeat – and Palla knew what she was capable of, even now. Starved and cold, she could still kill.

_But would Minerva even have wanted her to?_

Palla inhaled sharply. _Want_ , she corrected herself. _Not ‘wanted’, she’s—_

“I will tolerate none of your fancy flying this time, Macedonans.” The sky knight captain had stopped between Palla and Catria, her cold eyes on them both. “I can abide with it when we end small skirmishes, but this will mean a _real_ battle. Only barbarians disrupt formation, remember that. And another thing to remember, we’ll cross the ocean, so pay attention to the sudden gusts that appear over the sea – if you fall off your mount because of them, we won’t consider it worth saving you.”

Palla could see Catria clench her jaws on the other side of their captain, straining to keep silent. Palla understood her. None of these Grustians knew what a formation even _meant_ up in the air, and the captain pointed out information that even the youngest of junior sky knights knew as if it were worthy of mention – she might as well have stepped on them. Palla had gotten used to it, but Catria had less patience for the captain's condescending words.

“Understood”, Palla answered the captain tonelessly. Her commander gave a curt nod.

“When we get back, perhaps my fellow countrymen will have caught your deserter sister”, the captain said as her dismissal. “Perform well, and I might let you say your farewells before they execute her. If they find her _alive_ , that is.”

The captain turned her back without waiting for a response. Catria’s eyes burned, dug into the captain’s back, but Palla merely shot down her gaze. She should be grateful for those words. They meant Grust hadn’t found Est yet.  _That’s good._

If she just focused on whatever small slivers of light she could find, and if she just didn’t think, then she could get by just fine.

Just fine.

What a lie.

_A lie._

She forced down the echo of Est’s final words to her, turned back to working on the straps of the saddle. She’d spent so many years just fighting for her sisters’ survival, but back then she’d known her efforts would actually _lead_ somewhere. There was a purpose in hunting and training until late at night for her sisters’ sake. There was a purpose in protecting her people as a knight, just as it was in killing under Minerva’s personal banner. But _this_...

She was about to mount, but her hand stopped by her stallion’s ribs. They were outlining themselves so clearly against his stale fur, impossible to ignore. She looked up and couldn’t stop herself from meeting his gaze. She could no longer avoid the words those sad eyes spoke to her.  _We are dying. Both of us._

She swallowed and gave his muzzle a calming stroke.

“No”, she whispered at him. “I refuse to let that happen.”

She couldn’t leave Catria alone, she couldn’t crumble before she could embrace Est again, and she couldn’t let herself go from the past. If she died, she would no longer be able to remember. She wouldn’t be able to remember Minerva’s soft, coarse laughs, the wonderful light of her fiery smile or her unyielding dedication to preserve what she treasured.

Those memories brought Palla as much pain as they brought her consolation, but she wouldn’t let go of them. She’d never.

She’d beat the League, once and for all, and continue to fight until the day she fell, or the day she found her heart again.

She adjusted herself in the saddle and stroked her Pegasus’ mane.

_I won’t die._

Her gaze found Catria’s. Her sister’s eyes were usually lifeless nowadays, but they still burned from her anger at the captains words, even when she looked back at Palla. They both nodded at each other before they looked ahead, at the stable doors opening to reveal the cold blue sky that would be their company for the next four or five days.  
Palla’s gaze steeled, for the first time in many weeks. She’d persevered before, and would do it again.

Let the gods bring their worst.


	46. Cold Winds, Warm Smiles

The southern ocean gave the League a surprisingly gentle crossing, even as winter cloaked the air.

 

A deep sea stream from warmer lands was what made habitation on the island of Gra possible at all, since the harsh western winds always howled over their land. The League had set sail northeast of Gra, and the tailwinds pushed into their sails relentlessly. Just as Caeda had calculated, they sped across the gulf within two mere days.

For Minerva's part, she wouldn’t have minded if it had taken them longer. Caeda had held on to her offer, so she, Maria and Minerva took to the skies as soon as the League left dock. Maria sat in the cranny between the front of the saddle and Titania’s neck, her padded coat and Minerva's arms tight around her shoulders. The myriad of ships spread out below them like a flock of migrating birds, and Archanea's shores quickly disappeared from their sight. The harsh winds tore at Minerva’s hair, whipping wildly despite her headband, bit with its striking cold at her back – but with the warmth of Maria in front of her, there were few places she could name where she’d rather be.

 

Maria had begun their journey with small gasps of fear, and clung to the front of the saddle with her heart hammering so quickly, Minerva could feel it through all her layers of clothing.

It was no wonder, perhaps - the last time Maria had flown with her, it was in the rush of a battle with no time to be afraid of heights, and the last time before _that_... Minerva couldn’t even remember. Had it been one of their trips down to their favorite lake? Or had it been one of their early morning laps around the castle towers, with both the weapon’s master and healing master cheering them on from their windows? Macedon of the past blurred together further and further in her mind.

It didn’t matter anyhow – the important thing was for her to make sure Maria was all right. Minerva held her tight, occasionally asking if she wanted to be let down. Maria only shook her head, and after their first hour of flying had passed, she was leaning back against Minerva, pointing at clouds or laughing at Minerva's attempts at recalling old Macedonan puns. Not long after, she sat comfortably in the saddle and told Minerva about new theories on healing practices that she’d learned under Lena. She tried to explain the correlation between Earth magic and Light magic, that most mages of either sort could find an affinity for the other since they were both associated with life, somehow. Light magic could also take the shape of Nature magic, in some ways. Minerva never understood it properly, but she loved to listen regardless.

Minerva stayed on a straight course as much as possible to be able to hear Maria properly, and not cause her sister any unnecessary distress. Caeda, on the other hand, circled around the rigging like a large seagull, criss-crossing around their masts and sails, playing a reckless game that was mesmerizing to watch. Her unconventional way of flying looked so natural right then – her crude turns and quick spins were no doubt evolved from this very game. She angled herself dangerously close to the yards of the masts, then spun past the outer riggings with a perfect prediction of the sudden gusts that were typical for the ocean air – and then she flew back in. Worrying a lot of sailors, no doubt, but Minerva felt no such concerns. The Talys princess was in perfect control, and in absolute bliss.

Minerva didn’t need to see Caeda’s face to know how wide her smile must be. It was clear enough in how Caeda lifted her hands to the sky after a completed dive, her hair sparkling from a thousand small sprinkles of saltwater.

 

Down on the ship’s forecastle, Minerva could sometimes see Marth’s small shape lean over the railing. He’d begun the journey staring straight ahead, but his attention had slowly shifted to Caeda. For the rest of their crossing, he wholeheartedly followed his friend’s mad dance in the sky.

Minerva didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling, either.


	47. Limestone Stairs

The island of Gra had but one low point where ships could lay anchor. It wasn’t a harbor in the sense Minerva imagined one – there wasn’t much more to it than a stony shore walled by a crescent of cliffs, wide enough for a couple of supply ships. The dozen ships of the League’s temporary navy narrowly fit inside the bay, but if they huddled any closer their yards and masts would tangle into each other.

Gra was in many ways different from any other land Minerva had seen. The limestone cliffs hoisted the entire island far above the ocean surface, and the only way for the League to reach steady ground was to walk the perilous stairs carved from the stone in the cliffs themselves. The stair was the island’s only open supply route during the war, and Gra had made a visible effort to defend it from unwanted visitors. Wooden fortifications lined the cliffside, where archers were ready to rain their arrows down on the slippery stone path – forming a deadly, impenetrable wall. Their enemy wouldn’t even have to aim in order to send a careless climber back where they came from.

The League couldn’t risk exposing their foot soldiers for such dangers, and while the thought tempted her, Minerva knew she couldn’t fly up there alone to take the archers down, either. One well placed arrow and she’d plunge into the ocean or break apart on the sharp cliffs. She’d rather be spared that fate.

No, facing them head-on wouldn’t do, as Marth so gracefully pointed out when the members of his council huddled together on the main ship’s forecastle. However, their enemy did not seem to be fortified from behind – and that would mean an opening for one grand magic attack. If they could take down the resistance in one fell swoop, they wouldn’t have to lose anyone. Or so Marth argued.

“We just need to get our mages up there behind them”, Marth concluded, crossing his arms.

He had no need to say anything else; Minerva understood what he wanted before he turned his head to look at her and Caeda.

“I’ll go get Merric”, she answered him.

 

She did not enjoy the idea of having someone else take Maria’s place in the cranny of the saddle front, but Merric wasn’t half as awkward as she’d imagine Linde would be. The noble lady mage rarely spoke with anyone besides Nyna and Merric, and seemed especially skeptical toward wyverns. She’d be more at home on Caeda’s Pegasus. Which, Minerva realized, perhaps Merric would be too. He was paler than the winter sky when he mounted, and clung to the front of the saddle like a desperate child at their parent’s pant-leg.

“This is safe, then?”

Minerva leaned forward to grab the reins, her lips twitching. “Oh, sure it is, Merric. I do it all the time.”

She could see his knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on the saddle front. “That is not exactly of any comfort, your highness.”

Marth was there to see them off, and Merric gave him a weak wave, his fingers shivering.

“I’m going then, sire”, he whispered.

“Am I a ‘ _sire_ ’ all of a sudden, Merric?” Marth laughed. “Come now, don’t be nervous. You command the wind itself, do you not? You will be bragging to me before long how you were the first one of us fly. I know your courage, and I believe in you as I always do, old friend.”

Merric paled, and Minerva had to agree Marth’s words sounded a bit too much like a veiled speech of farewell before impending doom – especially to someone who was already terrified. She figured it was better to not give the mage any chance to change his mind.

She gave the command, and Titania cast herself off the deck. Merric’s response to Marth turned into a squeak, and he would have fallen if Minerva hadn’t held onto him from both sides.

“Just hold tight and follow Titania’s movements”, she half-shouted in his ear, and he nodded stiffly. She didn’t bother asking him to relax. There wasn’t much point to it.

They quickly climbed above the ship’s mast, and the circle of cliffs around them no longer reached to protect them from the wind. The ocean air was always a fickle, unpredictable thing, but to Minerva, every attempt it made to throw her off felt like a friendly challenge, a mere rowdy punch on the shoulder. She felt the familiar surge of excitement in the pit of her stomach that never grew old to her, and she fought the urge to smile.

Merric, on the other hand, did not seem to enjoy himself. He was paler than ever, and had let go of the saddle with one hand to cover his mouth. Minerva tried to make up for her sudden start by holding him tight and secure, just as she would with Maria, and she hoped she didn’t have to find out how Titania reacted to having someone heave their breakfast over her scales.

She circled around the enemy defenses in a loop so wide the enemy nearly disappeared from her sight, but as soon as she was far to the west of them, she circled back. If everything went as planned, she and Caeda would arrive behind their enemy at the same time, and regardless if their attempt at stealth succeeded or not, the two mages could still get one shot at the archers. One shot to take two dozen soldiers down. She’d seen them take on more than that before, but then they’d had both feet on the ground – Maria drew her magic from the earth beneath her, did Merric and Linde do the same? Surely they wouldn’t have agreed to this undertaking if that were the case?

Minerva spotted Caeda coming in from the west as they got closer to the enemy’s back lines, and quenched her doubts. She shook Merric’s shoulder as violently as she dared to make him open his eyes. He’d better get his fear in order, or they’d be flying right into the enemy’s snare.

“Gods and Divines”, she heard him mutter, but when he looked up Caeda and Linde was almost right beside them. When he met Linde’s fearless gaze, his face grew stern with similar determination. He lifted his arms in a snap, and his wind magic roared toward their enemy like a hurricane, combined with Linde’s unquenchable fire.

The blast of wind cast the patrolling archers off the cliff, and Linde’s fire burned the wooden fortification with its remaining soldiers to ash.

 

An entire battle, ended within two blows. Even though the soldiers of Gra were their enemies, it still unsettled Minerva to witness such devastation. Most of the archers had incinerated immediately, but some had had the time to let out one last cry.

The memory of general Merach appeared within her for a moment – Merach, loyal to the Macedonan banner until he was burned to death by Merric himself. He’d cried just as the archers did now, swallowed by flames for her sake. If he’d survived, would he have followed Minerva to the League, or would he have thought her a traitor, just as the rest?

She pushed the thought aside, sailed down to let Titania land on the ground.

That past didn’t matter. War reaped lives with no concerns for what might have been or what might become, her fellow Macedonans were beyond her control now – though she wouldn’t accept that fate for any of her friends, not for Maria, not for Palla or Catria or Est. War wouldn’t take them. Never. As soon as their invasion of Gra was over, she’d stand with Hardin for the end of Grust.

She’d save what mattered, buy life with the death of her enemies.

 

Titania landed softly on the grass, and Minerva let go of the reins to allow Merric to finally be free of her company. The mage dismounted rather indifferently, but as soon as he took his first step forward, he flopped down on the ground. Titania leaned down her head and blew a hard exhale in Merric’s face, nudged him carefully.

“You all right?” Minerva called down to him. He chuckled and turned his head, lifted his hand as to dismiss her concerns and Titania’s muzzle.

“You’re nice and all, your highness, but the next time I’m asked to fly with you, I’ll run as far away as I can. Don’t tell Marth I said that, though.”

Minerva snorted half a laugh at him. “I won’t.”

Caeda had let Linde down as well, and the young mage jogged toward Merric, helped him to his feet. For the first time, Minerva saw Linde display a genuine smile down at her friend. Shy and short-lived, but definitely a smile that reached her eyes.

“Thank you for letting me ride the Pegasus”, she said as she pulled Merric to standing. “I really appreciate it.”

Merric brushed off the grass stains from his knees and beamed a brave face at her. “Oh, not a problem”, he said and gave Titania’s neck an uncertain pat. “I have a great hand with wyverns. This was even a little fun, actually!”

Minerva tried her best to hold back her laughter this time. She looked to the sky and bit the side of her lip, but the laughter still shook through her.

“I suppose I’ll see you around, wyvern master”, she then said to Merric, as seriously as she could manage. “Take care.”

Minerva gave a final wave to them both and had Titania lift off. Along with Caeda, she dived down below the cliff edges to return to the main ship.

 

Only one of them was needed to relay the message of the success to Marth, but Minerva had another goal in mind. For as long as she breathed, she would not see Maria scaling those slippery stairs on her own. Plus, it would be nice to have someone who appreciated flying with her join her again.

\---

Once every able soldier had reached the top of the cliff, Minerva took the chance to properly scan their surroundings.  
Everything on the island was, as Maria stated in a fascinated whisper, ‘ _so flat_ ’. Trees were a rare sight, the few that survived the harsh climate lay low and crooked in the direction of the wind, knobbly and bare.

Caeda had scouted ahead, but even on the ground, Minerva could see how devoid the landscape was from people. Without any forest or mountain blocking her sight, she could even see the dim shape of Gra’s capital far to the south. Their goal.

\---

The League’s march began oddly undisturbed. Villages slammed their doors closed as they got near, and civilians ran from the sight of them, but no more soldiers met their advances. Minerva and Caeda circled almost all the way to the opposite coast without any sign of heavily reinforced fortress, awaiting their chance to cut off the League. They continued completely unbothered along the northwestern coastline, and they eventually reached Gra’s great city of stone.

Not even when the League set up their tents just north of the capital’s wall was there any reaction from the enemy forces.

“King Jiol has set traps in the past”, Marth said through clenched jaws as the royal leaders stood in the light of dusk, facing the capital walls. “But we don’t have enough resources to lay proper siege of the city. We have to face him head-on. We’ll proceed, with caution.”

Minerva couldn’t help but notice there was something different in his face, a mask that had slowly slipped into his expression during the days of marching. His gaze was hard, and deep frowns had taken the place of his usual smiles.

“Rest up”, was his final words. “And let’s hope the Divines are by our side in the morning. I cannot wait to leave this land of sorrow.”


	48. Black and Silver

The capital siege began in the late morning of their seventh day on Gra.

The League progressed slowly along the barren road and stopped by the main gate, every soldier holding their breath. Awaiting a trap to spring around them any moment. After careful consideration, Minerva and Caeda were sent to breach the capital’s main gate. Similar to the rest of their invasion, pushing through was done in a breeze. There was just one tired guard by one of the gates when Minerva and Caeda landed on either side of the wall’s watchtower.

“Hello”, Caeda greeted the guard, her voice pure as bells. “Would you mind opening the gate, friend?”

The guard had scrambled for his sword, but Caeda’s kind and calm voice must have surprised him. He stopped and looked first at Caeda, then at Minerva, before he slowly and unsurely raised his sword and pointed it at them both.

Despite the desperate threat, Titania did not interpret the situation as a battle. She held her head low and uttered a friendly growl, as if attempting to match Caeda’s troublefree tone. The guard did not seem to be too confident in the language of wyverns, however. He dropped his sword at the sound and begun to open the gate, face pale as snow. Caeda pulled his sword toward her with the lance and picked it up from the ground, twittering a quick ‘ _thank you_ ’ before she and Minerva left the watchtower.

Below them, the League advanced through the now open gate, and followed the empty streets of the capital to the castle. Minerva glided down to the level of the house’s chimneys, hovered on the lookout for any enemy ambushes. Although even from above, the city was like a ghost town. It chilled her more than the cold winter air.

They soon reached the castle’s outer ward. The drawbridge was up, but was not a hindrance in itself. Not a single soul patrolled on top of the wall, so Minerva could easily fly up to the chains and cut through them with Hauteclare – whatever magic that cloaked its edges, it made them powerful enough to cut through iron and still not be dulled.  
Although Marth signalled for her to wait, so she hovered in place. She understood his caution, even though the unnatural stillness made her fingers twitch – the town’s breath trembled under a lid that she longed for to open. Trap or no.

Marth turned to his closest allies in the front, instructed them to relay the word and have the army split up and form two separate groups on either side of the drawbridge. Everyone scrambled in place, huddled together along the outer ward with their shields ready at the level of their chins. Minerva immediately spotted Maria on the left side of the gate, safe in the middle of prince Hardin’s squad. Minerva’s heart trembled surprisingly little at the sight of her – she looked pale, but smiled reassuringly at the violet-haired bow knight who’d leaned down and said something to her.

 _Trust in her_ , Minerva’s thoughts whispered, constantly trying to convince her. They almost succeeded.

The beat of wings sounded from behind her, and Minerva looked away from Maria. Caeda had joined Minerva’s side, her spear over her right shoulder.

“We’re ready”, she said. Her tone was shorter, far from the confident laughter she’d portrayed in front of the single soldier in the watchtower. The tense anticipation clearly did a number on her as well.

Minerva nodded at her, then met Marth’s gaze to confirm his order. He cocked his head and made a chopping motion with his hand. Minerva let Hauteclere shatter the chains.

The gate slammed open like a dragon’s jaw, and with it came Gra’s immediate countermeasures. The tense silence shattered as the opening spit a stream of arrows. The whistles and thrumming of bowstrings and yells of command echoed like a shockwave over the quiet city.

Minerva and Caeda hovered close behind the safety of the gate’s arch, stared at the stream deadly projectiles with wide eyes. There was no way to see where one round of enemy fire ended and one begun – Gra had perfected their rhythm, assembled a city’s worth of archers in one small courtyard. Minerva was grateful for the protection from the gate arch, and even more grateful for her and Caeda not attempting to simply fly over the wall. Her head twitched involuntarily from the thought of a hundred arrow tips tearing through Titania’s wings and scales.

She hated Gra and their cursed archers, hated the fear that almost had her cower in the saddle.

The League hugged the walls on either side, their eyes darting back and forth between the gate and Marth, waiting for the deadly stream to still. Minerva had held her hand in the signal for ‘ _hold_ ’ ever since the gate opened, purely out of instinct. She’d done her best in teaching Caeda the routine of sky knight signals, but there were hundreds of them. It usually took years for a knight at Macedon’s academy to learn them all, so Minerva didn’t expect Caeda to catch on so quickly. But to her surprise, she heard a laugh from beside her.

“That’s ‘ _hold_ ’, right?” Caeda yelled over the horrid swishing sounds from below them. “Thank you, but there isn’t much else to do.”

Minerva lowered her hand, let it rest against Titania’s scales.

“No indeed”, she called back, just as the sound of hissing arrows died away. The entire city once again held its breath.

Gra’s archers were among the best on their continent, King Jiol’s mind for traps deadly to the unsuspecting – although the enemy’s first move had failed, Minerva feared what awaited them. The logical progression would be to have the archers move up to the walls and pluck the League’s soldiers down, now that they got them pinned. It wouldn’t take any effort, and the League would have almost nothing to fight back at them with. A wave of shame shivered through Minerva, but she couldn’t stop the immediate plan that unfolded in her thoughts – plunge down to where Maria was hugging the wall, grab her and fly away with haste. Much different from her usual instinct to lunge to the front lines, but the mere sound of a bowstring being released was enough to make her on the defensive.

She inhaled through her teeth. _I’m not that selfish shell anymore._

Minerva focused her gaze down on Marth, watched him turn and yell new orders. The prince had a quick mind for the battlefield, she’d stay and wait for his counter. The League had overcome greater obstacles before, after all.

Mere seconds after Marth’s voice had carried through the army, Draug, Macellan and Dolph hoisted their thick shields and jumped onto the drawbridge. The river of arrows responded immediately, but most of them couldn’t penetrate the shields. The three knights grunted and stopped, hid behind their shields but were unable to take any step forward.

A diversion, then? If the intent was to keep as many archers away from perching themselves on top of the wall, it was only temporary, the knight’s shields couldn’t hold forever—

Draug waved a hand, and from the sides jumped Linde, Merric and Lena. Minerva wasn’t sure to expect, but huffed out a sigh of relief to not see Maria among them.

Each one of the magicians huddled together behind the wall of shields, sunk to their knees with their hands in a circle. Linde had her gaze fixed on their enemy through the slits of Draug’s and Macellan’s shields, and the three magicians whispered a silent incantation together, their lips moving in an unnatural unison. Lena shivered from the effort, and Merric’s shoulders looked to be even tenser than when he’d flown on Titania. Magic always looked effortless when they performed it, but the only one who didn’t move a muscle was Linde – her gaze was still fixed, her back straight, even as a wildfire flared up from the ground around them. Minerva could feel the heat on her cheeks, and slowly wondered how they would be able to hurl this fire at their foes without instantly killing the knights protecting them – but she didn’t have to wonder for long before the fire sunk back down into the ground.

Lena’s face was drenched in sweat, and Merric visibly gasped for breath. Had they failed?

A choir of desperate screams welled from the enemy side of the wall, and Minerva hugged Titania’s reins. That was not the sound of failure.

She remembered how Maria had described Bolganone, Volzhin’s fearsome fire magic – wasn’t it just like this? So it took three of the League’s magicians to complete a spell that one Dolunan general could do on his own. She remembered Volzhin’s arrogant speeches during the Dolunan war meetings. Perhaps he’d had the right to brag – but now he was dead and the League was not.

The stream of arrows had lost its rhythm, only a few more thrummed into the knights at the front. The enemy archers no doubt scrambled to fill the missing places of their dead, but that was the opening Marth had waited for. Linde leaped forward from behind Draug and sent an exploding light through the gate’s opening, and Marth lifted his rapier high over his head, signalled for a charge.

The League fearlessly advanced through the drawbridge to attack the full force of Gra’s troops, now that the first danger of the archers was gone. The small gate served as an effective bottleneck, but now that the initial danger was lessened, the bravest and most thickly armored could push through with their war cries echoing over the castle grounds.

Minerva saw Maria run past, so quickly all she could pick up was a wisp of red hair and a white healer’s garb. The breath halted in her throat as soon as Maria was gone from her sight.  _Oh, Divines—_

Minerva pushed the horror back, and looked to Caeda.

“There could still be plenty of archers afoot within the walls”, Minerva said to her, “but we can’t stay here, either.”

Caeda didn't respond, she leaned in the saddle to follow her mercenaries movement through the gate below them. Minerva considered breaking away from the gate arch, to search the field for the safest way to the front where she could have Maria’s back—

“ _Oi fliers! Enemy reinforcements!_ ”

Minerva’s eyes snapped to a small group right beneath the arch, where the young archer Gordin waved his bow to catch her attention. “Pegasus knights, from the east!”

Minerva pushed herself away from the wall, and had Titania to take to higher air so she could follow up on Gordin’s observation. She squinted over the edge of the outer ward’s wall, as best she could.

The sunlight shimmered on the wild ocean far below the limestone castle, a spectacle that made it difficult to see anything but indistinct shapes. All she could gather was the shadows of six _things_ moving toward them, but it could just as well be a flock of birds. Marth had mentioned that Gordin was his best archer with eyes like a hawk, so perhaps she’d do best in trusting his judgement.

Caeda reappeared beside her, seemingly not too sure about the smudgy shapes either. She hovered with her hand shielding her eyes from the sun.

“Should we take them on before they cross over to the castle?” she yelled over to Minerva.

Minerva dared to fly even higher and did her best to assess the chaos going on down in the courtyard, and spotted Maria safe in the middle of the army, kneeling beside a bleeding but grinning Ogma.

 _Trust in her._ Her heart danced its usual odd dance at the thought, but she drew a deep breath and looked back on the advancing shapes over the ocean. _Maria will do fine. Just protect her from those fliers._

The reinforcements were already closer, even though the wind was in their faces. They definitely had the movement of pegasi by then. Waiting for them to advance to the castle meant that the League’s archers could get a good chance – but who could possibly say what damage the enemy might have time to instill before then. Two fliers in the air were equals, but one flier could slaughter dozens of ground soldiers without much effort. The enemy sending in eight Pegasus knights meant the same as deploying at least seventy soldiers on foot.

“They could pose a great danger to the others”, Minerva yelled in answer to Caeda, and signalled the most obvious sign she could for ‘ _move_ ’.

Caeda signed a sloppy ‘ _understood_ ’ back at her, and they both dashed forward.

 

They had the western wind on their side, and the knights before them quickly took on shapes increasingly recognizable as humans.  
The enemy sky knights flew in an odd, straight line of a formation that Minerva would never, even in her wildest dreams, use as an attack pattern. She recognized the knights wearing Grust’s colors of black and silver, and all of them were strikingly blonde, except—

Her eyes widened, but she quickly sobered. It couldn’t be anything but her imagination. Although it had to be the first time her mind invaded her with thoughts and images of her Whitewings in the heat of battle. She couldn’t let her be distracted by her dreams, she needed to focus, survive, get to Grust and find them for real—

_Grust._

The black and silver of the sky knight’s armor were all she could see, the mismatch of ocean blue and summer green hair on two of them so surreal it became glaring. Minerva tried to still her heart, but it hammered on, overpowered everything else around her except for the shrill sound of laughter.

Laughter?

“Commandeeer!”

She’d recognize Catria’s hooting voice anywhere. Minerva could only stare open-mouthed, the incomprehensible cry of joy stuck in her throat as she urged Titania to speed up.  
Even if this was just one of her mind’s tricks... No, how could it be? The blue-haired knight tore off her black and silver cloak over her shoulders and hollered like a madman – how could that be part of Minerva’s imagination? And her mind couldn’t possibly recreate Catria’s unfathomable speed _that_ perfectly, either.

Within a breath, what couldn’t possibly be anyone other than Catria broke free of the useless formation and whacked the closest Grustian flier in the head with her lance. The Grustian tumbled unconsciously down into the ocean, and was soon joined by a second victim, killed by one of Palla’s precise sword strikes.

Minerva’s heart drummed so hard against her chest wall, her pulse turning into a wordless song in her ears. This was no dream.

 

She wasn’t sure what happened inside her. She wanted to simply stand up and wave in her saddle, wanted to cry out their names again and again – but this was a battle, and four Grustian sky knights still remained who scrambled for their weapons. They’d been taken aback by the sudden turn, but the look of glaring hatred on their faces spoke loudly of the danger they still posed.

Minerva shot through the air like an arrow, and she cried at Caeda to stop her advance, signalling every sign she could for ‘ _halt_ ’. She couldn’t trust Caeda to distinguish friend from foe, here, and this bloodshed _belonged_ to Minerva. She’d waited long enough with digging her axe into the Grustians.

 

She hit into one of the Pegasus knights turning on Palla, and the enemy’s fragile shape was not able to stand against the crushing force of a wyvern. They lost their balance, the Pegasus’ wings breaking from the pressure. Minerva caught the flash of Palla’s sword beside her, and could from that determine where she aimed, where the next enemy was moving.

Minerva looped back to face their next foe without stopping. Neither she nor Titania needed any time to think. She arched over Palla and hit the already bleeding enemy out of the saddle with Hauteclere, and Catria immediately swooped up above her in turn, taking down the last of their enemies.

Minerva hadn’t signalled a single command, but their movements were still as seamless as if their months apart had never passed. Minerva stopped and hovered to breathe, although air seemed excessive to her at that moment.

The wind bit at her cheeks.

Had she been crying all this time?

“Minerva!” Her name came out in the form of a scream, a sob and laughter. It was followed by an eager neigh, and Titania bugled excitedly in response – she recognized the voices of her favorite Pegasus friends.

“Minerva! It’s you, it’s _really you_!” The voice came from above, and Minerva bent her head. Her heart jumped in her chest and the wind bit even harsher on the fresh tears that fell.

Behind the blur of Minerva’s vision, she could see Palla’s shape outlined by a halo of sunlight. Perhaps the sharp light stung and hurt her eyes, but Minerva didn’t really care.

She blinked to see clearer. Finally managed to focus on Palla’s face and the smile that shone brighter than the sun behind her.

Minerva no longer heard the sounds of crashing waves or howling winds around her. Minerva’s world veiled itself in a blanket of quiet, her senses refused to partake in anything other than the shape above her and the sound of her joy.

 

In the next moment, Palla had dived down to hover beside her and before Minerva could react, Palla jumped over the last remaining gap between them. She slid down against Titania’s neck and hit into Minerva with a thud, throwing her arms around her.

“You’re _alive_ ”, Palla sobbed. “You’re free, you’re _here_ —“ She buried her face in Minerva’s shoulder, another laughing sob escaping her.

Minerva’s arms locked around her in response – she didn’t think, barely understood _how_ Palla had come to be in her arms.

All that mattered was that she _was_.

 

Minerva hugged her as tightly as she could, breathed in the scent of her. She smelled of seafoam, wet metal and sour leather, but beneath it all Minerva could still distinguish the special scent Palla always carried with her. It enclosed Minerva’s senses like the soft aura of Earth magic.

“Palla”, she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “I was determined to find you, but you’ve always been quicker than me. Of course you’d come to find me instead.”

Minerva felt a violent shudder through her touch, coupled with an incomprehensible wail. She couldn’t determine if Palla’s sounds were laugher or tears anymore, but it somehow didn’t matter. Everything was just a brilliant, brilliant mess.

“Oh, you reckless... Oh, _Minerva_.” Palla pulled her head back, her eyes so close to Minerva’s when their gazes met. Every small detail puzzled itself back into Minerva’s mind, finally breaking the bell of loneliness that had tolled its empty tones in her heart for so long.

Palla’s skin was flushed from her smile and tears, dotted by all her old battle scars Minerva could give names and places to. Most of Palla’s hair had escaped her braid and she brushed it out of her face with small laughs. The movement was so familiar – elegant even though her face was puffed up and her fingers shivered. The sight somehow ached at Minerva’s heart, as if she couldn’t handle the overwhelming image of perfection before her.

Palla sniffed and cleared her throat, her free strands of hair once again dancing in the wind in front of her face. Minerva let go with one hand to help her brush it behind her ear, and Palla gave another little laugh.

“Damn me if I wake”, Palla whispered and wiped her eyes with her dirty sleeve. “Minerva, this is... Oh, gods, I... I thought I’d never see you again.”

Minerva smiled back at her, tried to think of anything in response. Her mind was filled with words she would have liked to say, but none of them felt worthy enough.

“I missed you so”, she finally whispered. “And I’m so sorry.”

“You fool”, Palla sobbed back, her face wrinkled by new tears. She then leaned into Minerva as to embrace her again, but before she buried her face in Minerva’s arms, she quickly pressed her lips against Minerva’s cheek.

 

Minerva had seen Palla kiss Est on the top of her head plenty of times in the past, usually when she and Catria returned from their missions on the northern border long ago. ‘ _I missed you, Potato Pie_ ’, she’d say, then kiss her on the head.

This was the first time Minerva herself had been welcomed in such a way, but it felt so much like home, a greeting like any other – except it was wonderfully... whole. _Perfect_.  
Warmth spread from where Palla’s lips had touched her, left a stream of light that filled Minerva’s senses to the brim.

 _Perfect_. The word echoed in her head, whispered from the trails of tears on her cheeks. Minerva hugged Palla tighter, breathed in her scent again. She could stay like this for eternity without complaint.

“Hey, down there, this is a _battlefield_ still.”

Catria’s shouting voice broke through the howling wind and Minerva’s swimming thoughts. She arched her head to look up, was met by another circling Pegasus.

“Yeah, hi, Commander”, Catria waved at her, with a grin wider than Minerva could remember ever seeing on her face. “I missed you too, but I’m not going to do a dangerous jump to prove it.”

“No, that would be very unlike you.” Minerva croaked a laugh through her tears. “It’s _so_ good to see you, Catria.”

“Aw, Commander, you’re always so sweet.” Catria leaned over the side of the saddle to shout down at Minerva, then swooped down onto their level with her grin no less wide. “This sure is something. You’re in with the League, I take it?”

“I am.” Minerva tried to clear her throat and mind, but the sensation of Palla’s shaky breathing against the nape of her neck made the latter impossible. “Maria’s with us, too. All thanks to you.”

Minerva felt Palla’s arms hug her tighter, and Catria bent her head upward, staring into the empty air with her toothy smile still displayed.

“Well I’ll be _damned_ ”, Catria laughed. “I never thought I’d be _this_ happy today.”

Minerva’s shoulders had grown stiff, but she didn’t care, she still held on to Palla as if her life depended on it. Palla, on the other hand, slightly loosened her grip, and her face moved away to look at something behind Minerva.

“Minerva, your company is watching us.”

The reminder that they weren’t alone came as an astonishing revelation – Minerva had completely forgotten. She cast a glance backwards, and met Caeda’s gaze. The Talys princess took the hint, and dared to sail toward them so that she was hovering at their level, right in front of Minerva.

She said nothing, but her smile spoke for her.

“Right, uhm— This is Caeda”, Minerva introduced her, tried to think of a proper formal introduction befitting a fellow princess, and failing.

“We’ve already met”, Catria beamed and bowed in the saddle at Caeda. “Nice to see you again, Rebel Flier.”

Palla only turned her head, her arms still locked around Minerva.

“We’ve met as well”, Palla said. “Outside Aurelis castle. Although that meeting wasn’t very pleasant.”

“Not pleasant for either of us, I dare say”, Caeda answered her. “Though this is a much more happy occasion. I understand your plight was the same as Minerva’s, so let us forget our former clashes. Should you wish to retreat in peace, you’re free to do so – but you are graciously welcome to join the League, just say the word.”

Catria bobbed her head to the sides. “Well, we did just kill our Grustian comrades, one of them being our no-manner captain, so there’s that. No going back _there_ now, even if we were mad enough to want it.”

“We’ve severed our ties with Doluna”, Palla clarified, her hands clenching into fists behind Minerva’s back. “And we have no interest in hiding from our duty – there’s nowhere we’d rather be than on the opposing side of destruction, standing by our liege. We’re with you.”

Palla, always with her straightforward words. Minerva quelled the urge to chuckle at Palla’s formal title - ‘ _liege, really?_ ’ - and merely smiled wider. She still couldn’t believe she was hearing Palla’s voice, but this was no illusion. Palla was real, warm, breathing, her hair still whipping at Minerva’s cheeks.

Minerva leaned back a little, and her mind finally slowed down enough for her to breathe, take in the rest of their surroundings – and her heart immediately chilled. The sky was too empty, too quiet – a gaping hole becoming increasingly obvious before Minerva’s vision. Her eyes darted to the empty sky behind them.

“Palla”, she whispered. “I’m sorry but— Est is on her way here too, right?”

She didn’t dare think anything else – it had to be the three of them, it _had_ to be—

“No, Est, she’s... She’s left our squad.” Palla’s eyes shot down and her shoulders tensed, and for a second Minerva’s thoughts stopped completely in fear of the worst. “She left willingly”, Palla continued. “A few weeks ago. I cannot blame her, Grust was never kind to us. On top of it all, Est thought for sure that you were dead, and so... She saw no point in staying, she said she wanted to be... useful. She deserted in order to search for one of Archanea’s stolen regalias. We had a fight about it. I don’t know if she wants to go back to us – to me – after that, even if she’s alive.”

“You’re always too hard on yourself, sister”, Catria interjected, her face stiffening slightly. “Est doesn’t hate you, so please stop beating yourself up about that – and she’s _fine_. She knows how to avoid those Grustian rats. I trust her."

Minerva slid back into the warmth of the moment at that, let herself relax her shoulders again.  _Est’s fine_. She felt guilty in how easily she could think so in comparison to how she worried for Maria – but she knew Est was capable of tackling the worst kinds of battles, she’d seen her grow into the role. _She’s fine, and will no doubt boast about her courage when she returns._

The thought settled with her, pushed away the chill that had panged at her heart before.

"Let’s delay any further details at the moment", Catria continued, and pulled one of her throwing spears free. "This isn’t the place to discuss and juggle guesses around. The second party of Grust’s sky knights are still on the way.”

Palla moved away from Minerva, but her hand was still entangled in Minerva’s tunic beneath her pauldron.

“Right”, Palla said with her eyes on Catria. “You’re right. We have to prepare.”

She put her fingers between her lips and let out a sharp whistle, and her Pegasus that hovered above them with an empty saddle dove down beside Titania, almost surrounding the wyvern completely with pegasi.

Palla climbed over to her place in the saddle, adjusting her sword belt and wiping her face. Minerva had unwillingly let go. Her arms were awfully cold without Palla there – now that Minerva had felt completion again, she wanted to cling to it, refused to return to what the emptiness of _before_ had been.

 _This isn’t the time_ , she reminded herself, slowly unsheathing Hauteclere.

“How many knights are we speaking of?” Caeda yelled over to Palla. “We have archers back at the castle that could provide us with the help we might need, but preferably I’d keep any flying enemies away from the League.”

 _And away from Marth._ Minerva filled in the part of the sentence that Caeda didn’t speak aloud, but to Minerva, she might as well have. She’d gotten to know Caeda well enough to understand what she valued most.

“There were sixteen of us in total”, Palla answered, her cold and calculated tone returned. “So another formation of eight is coming, although they pose no danger to us. You saw how easily they fall. Grust may know how to train knights on horseback, but they know _nothing_ about the skies. We’ll take them on together, right as they arrive.”

 _Together._ Minerva’s heart soared at the thought, her blood rushing to her throat. Mere minutes had passed since she’d fallen into the perfect unison that was her Whitewings, and she couldn’t wait to do it again. This was a part of her life returned to her – she had no need for words, no need for anything but the sky around her and her knights beside her.

She took command without thinking. As the shape of eight fliers took form at the horizon, she gestured for a wider formation. ‘ _Two each, kill on sight_ ’ she added and looked over her shoulder to see if Caeda had caught on. The Talys princess made an acknowledging wave at Minerva, and fanned out just as instructed.

A surge of pride shot through Minerva at that, although it didn’t make much sense to her. Her mind swirled in happiness, overflowing in every direction. Est’s absence was a small ache in her heart, but it didn’t draw her focus.  _She’s fine._

She signalled for a charge, and all four of them ascended in unison – then plunged down toward the advancing sky knights.

Palla had been right. Compared to her, most fliers were too clumsy to be considered adequate, but the Grustian sky knights had the aptitude of Macedonan first year-juniors. Even without the surprise of having people in their own ranks turn on them, they couldn’t hold on long. Their evasive manoeuvres were predictable, their counterattacks wild and imprecise, the cooperation with their mounts non-existent. Twice the number did nothing to help them. Only two knights remained after Minerva’s initiation, and both attempted to dart down on Palla with their lances. Palla barely moved her face, evading the first and leaving him open for Minerva, while she countered the other with a quick overhead strike.

After that, nothing.

Minerva sheathed Hauteclere behind her back, her arms light as feathers. She’d taken on five sky knights within the lapse of a few minutes, and she barely felt like she’d broken a sweat. Was this how simple it had been before, without the crushing weight of Michalis’ looming threats? How much weaker she’d been without her Whitewings – she had realized that before, but not fully _understood_ it until now.

Catria had broken the formation, and did half a twirl in the air, her laughter still audible over the crashing sounds of ocean and wind. Minerva felt an urge to do the same.  
_So many chains broken._

After months of trying to cling to the memories of her most trusted friends, nothing could come close to this fleeting moment of perfection.

And it wasn’t over yet. She signalled for a turn-around, and together they set a course for the castle of Gra once again.


	49. Welcoming

Prince Hardin, his three paladins and Midia were the only shapes that moved on the castle courtyard. Minerva and her three Pegasus followers sailed low, closing in on the yard from above with great care. One archer with the strength to draw their bow would be enough to rob them of sky and life, so Minerva couldn’t let her swimming thoughts risk undoing her reason. She slipped into the mindset of a commander, combed through the courtyard with trained eyes.

 

Gra’s archers that had posed such a challenge for the League before had been dragged to the western corner, where they lay torn, bloodied and burned. Midia was currently the only one tending to the corpses, placing them in rows along the wall.

Ever since Midia had recovered from her long time in a prison cell she’d made sure to honor the dead among their enemies and put them to rest. Although she always thourughly searched the enemy’s faces before she pulled their eyelids down. If there was a reason for her effort besides honor, Minerva hadn’t had the stomach to ask about it.  
The remainder of Hardin’s squad stood calm and relaxed, chatting amonst themselves. The battle on the ground must have ended – Hardin was no stranger to fighting, he’d know better than to turn his back where there was still hostilities afoot. Perhaps the battle continued inside the castle, but the dark windows revealed nothing of the sort.

 _Maria_ , Minerva’s thoughts whispered to her, but she forced herself to stop there. She had to take one thing at the time, had to believe in Maria’s capabilities to fend for herself.  
The youngest of Hardin’s paladins was facing the eastern wall; he was thus the first to spot the sky knights.

Prince Hardin was in the middle of a laugh when his knight pointed to the eastern sky, and both he and his bow knights immediately drew their weapons.

Caeda signaled for Minerva to wait, and sailed down to the bloodied cobblestone by herself while Minerva and her Whitewings hovered in place. Minerva felt a rumble of discontent carry through Titania, but the wyvern obediently strained herself to fight the wind-current while the pegasi beside her fluttered in small circles to be able to keep their altitude.

Caeda trotted toward Hardin. Minerva could see a wary smile on Hardin’s face as he met her advance. He held a firm grip on his lance, his bow knights following his example with their drawn bows aimed at Palla and Catria respectively. Minerva responded by placing herself as a shield below the two Whitewings. If Hardin’s mounted archers wanted to take a shot, they’d have to shoot Minerva down first.

Even Midia had left the western corner to join her squad leader, her lance at the ready. Minerva felt her fingers twitch at the sight.  _They have good reason to be suspicious_ , Minerva had to remind herself. From slightly above her, she could see that Catria still tore at her sleeves to rid herself of any mark of Grust. The occasional piece of fabric sailed down in front of Minerva like clumps of silver snow. Palla, on the other hand, kept her armor decors intact. A black cloak hovered around her shoulders, over the silver lines of a similarly jet jacket, with Grust’s proud insignia sewn to her collar. She kept her sword sheathed, but even so, she looked formidable.

Caeda had reached Hardin, and in the corner of Minerva’s vision, she spotted Hardin relaxing his grip on the lance. Caeda then turned in her saddle to meet Minerva’s gaze and gestured a quick hand signal at her.

“ _Good_?” Catria swept down beside Minerva and yelled to overpower the wind. “Does she mean ‘ _all clear_ ', or is she complementing our flying?”

“Caeda’s still learning the signals”, Minerva yelled back. “I’m sure she means we can land, but you two stay behind me just to be on the safe side.”

The bow knights had lowered their weapons, but both of them scrutinized Catria and Palla with narrow eyes as they began their descent. Minerva glanced to the side and noticed that Catria stared right back at the violet haired bow paladin with a similar look on her face, like she recognized him and hadn't decided if she wanted to dig deeper into it.

There were far too many things her Whitewings needed to be told, things Minerva had forgotten were new. The League had become her home, without her fully noticing it – and she wished she could pull her Whitewings into that sense of belonging immediately.  _One thing at the time_ , she reminded herself, and slowly sailed down to the ground.

 

The three of them landed a stone’s throw away from Hardin’s squad. The less threatening they seemed, the easier this would be.

Caeda and Hardin still exchanged words. Minerva was too far away to hear them, but didn’t mind. As long as the threatening air around them was faded and gone, she was content. She and her knights stood huddled so close that the wings of their mounts almost got tangled together. The animals didn’t seem to be bothered, Catria’s mare even nudged at Titania with her head in a playful fashion, Titania sniffing the Pegasus’ mane in return. Perhaps they’d missed each other as much as their human masters had.

Catria leaned over to the side, and knocked on Minerva’s pauldron. Her eyes were still set on the bow knight.

“Isn’t that the ‘ _cute bow paladin_ ’ Est refused to believe was called Wolf?” she said to Minerva in a loud whisper. “The one we hunted deserters with, in Aurelis?”

Minerva noticed how Palla winced slightly at the mention of her youngest sister, but she still looked ahead with a steeled gaze, didn’t meet Minerva’s.

“Why yes”, Minerva answered Catria. “And I do think his name really is Wolf.”

“Good for him”, Catria dismissed her response and instead pointed at prince Hardin in his jewelled armor. “My point is that _he_ looks an awful lot like the leader of said deserter hunters in Aurelis. You know, the ‘ _simple villager_ ’. Was he promoted to nobility in the last few months?”

Palla’s eyes softened, and she looked to Minerva again with a tiny smile. “Didn’t one of your lieutenants recognize him as the Prince of Aurelis? Perhaps that soldier was right?”

Minerva smiled back at her, relieved to see the pain on her face diminished.

“He was”, Minerva admitted. “I recognized Hardin as well after that, but mentioning it would be a bit too treasonous considering the circumstances.”

Catria put her hands on her hips and squinted at Minerva. “Oh yeah? Been keeping secrets, Commander? So who else just happen to be of royalty? Palla or me, perhaps?”

“Well”, Minerva answered her rhetorical question and pointed at Caeda. “I forgot to mention – _that’s_ the princess of Talys.”

“Hold on now—“ Catria dropped her teasing attitude in a heartbeat, and leaned forward with her eyes wide. “You’re joking, the— The _demon_ ’s a princess?”

Caeda had just turned and began to trot in their direction, and Catria’s words must have reached her. She arched her brow, but the rest of her face remained impassive as she rode toward them.

“Demons?” Caeda repeated as she got closer. “What are you talking about?”

Catria had gone slightly paler, did not seem too keen to respond. Minerva had almost forgotten with what seething hatred soldiers among the Dolunan allies had hissed Caeda’s title – it wasn’t a name fit for a friend, so it had slid into obscurity for her. Minerva felt a flush spread over the base of her throat.

“Ah, yes, that’s...” Minerva began, stretching her fingers inside her gauntlet. “No offense, but that’s what we used to call you. No one knew your name, really, so everyone in the Dolunan army called you by that label. _Flying Demon_. That was you.”

“Oh my, really?” Caeda’s face didn’t reveal anything for the first few seconds, but then the corners of her lips began to twitch. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all week. Flying Demon... Hah, just wait until Marth hears of this!”

Minerva relaxed her shoulders, and in the corner of her eyes she saw her Whitewings do the same.

“I understand that Marth is safe?” Minerva inquired, happily changing the subject.

“He is. We have seen no loss from our side.” Caeda’s smile died away. “Although king Jiol did not accept the offer to surrender. I hear Marth struck him down himself.”

Those should be good news, but a worried frown crept over Caeda’s forehead as she said it. Minerva had no time to reflect on it properly before prince Hardin caught up to them, and bowed in his saddle at her and the Whitewings.

“Princess Minerva’s personal guard”, he mused. “I remember you. Quite fondly, despite our differing allegiances at the time. Apologies for not recognizing you – you wear quite distressing colors indeed.”

Palla bowed back, hand over her heart in the Macedonan salute. Catria merely nodded her head, her gaze still stuck on Hardin’s jewelled armor.

“It’s an honor to properly side with you, your highness”, Palla said, with a touch of warmth in her formal tone.

“The honor is mine, and I bid you the warmest welcome to the League”, Hardin smiled and lifted his head a little, visibly enjoying to have his true identity revealed. He then turned to Minerva, and continued:

“I assume princess Caeda has informed you that the battle is over, but I thought I’d tell you that we are not yet ready to depart. I’m afraid I have to ask you to wait here in the courtyard. Everyone except us is inside the castle searching for the Falchion at the moment, and any more people would just make things cluttered.”

 _Right_. The Falchion. Their way to victory. Palla’s eyes darted to Minerva for a second, her eyebrows high. There were so many things to explain, so many truths to filter forth, Minerva couldn’t possibly begin then and there.

 _Later_ , she tried to answer Palla through her gaze. _I’ll tell you everything, later._

 

The great doors of the castle entrance slammed open, and Minerva stirred in the saddle, her hand instinctively reaching for Hauteclere on her back – but she quickly lowered her arm when she saw Nyna leading the way out through the castle doors. Linde walked right behind her. Even though Minerva stood on the other side of the courtyard, she could determine their features. The Archanean empress was as flawlessly indifferent as ever, but Linde’s face was twisted in disgust.

“Whatever this means, it can’t be good”, Caeda said out loud, and turned her Pegasus around to face the progression of soldiers that bled out of the castle doors. Minerva’s heart jumped in fear for a moment, and she could no longer force her worried thoughts aside.

 _Maria_. Was she hurt? Caeda had told her they’d had no losses, but _injuries_?

More soldiers welled out of the entrance. Minerva’s eyes darted between them all, and her pulse calmed only when she saw two red-haired adolescents walking side by side, one of them wearing a golden diadem.

Marth soon appeared at the front, and he raised a hand toward Minerva’s and Prince Hardin’s squad.

“We’re moving out”, he ordered as he got closer. His stare was distant, his face hardened almost beyond recognition. He carried the same silver sword as before, and no one else was holding anything of notice. Yet Minerva still heard Caeda ask as Marth passed them: “Did you find it?”

Marth had his eyes fixed anywhere than on his friend. “I’ll fill you in later”, was his answer. “Right now, we leave.”

He walked past Minerva, but he stopped for a moment and looked at Palla and Catria. His face softened, his expression like the Marth Minerva had come to know.

“ _Whitewings_ ”, he said and pointed at Catria. “Is that right?”

Palla smiled politely and bowed, and as for Catria – perhaps Minerva was mistaken, but she thought Catria’s grin was unusually wide while she did her salute.

“We meet again, Prince Marth”, Catria greeted him. “I’m delighted to finally have the chance to stand with your army. We’ll fight our hardest for you. You need only give the command.”

A small smile appeared on the prince’s lips. The hardened mask crackled slightly around his eyes, and he looked on Minerva for a moment. “Oh, no, the delight is mine. Welcome to the League, Macedonan knights.”

With that, he slid past them, his cloak pulled tight around him. His face stiffened anew as he once again had his eyes set on the open drawbridge, and Minerva looked away. She didn’t want to see pain, not now, not when she finally felt such soothing joy. She didn’t want to acknowledge the doubt that had begun to crawl under her skin.

Minerva’s gaze landed on Caeda, and her hopes of avoiding discomfort crackled even more. The worried frown had returned on Caeda’s face, her eyes fixed only on Marth’s disappearing figure.

“I suppose we are dismissed, then.” Prince Hardin’s voice was tenser than before. “Pleasure to see you all again, whole and healthy, but now I bid your leave. I have my own to attend to.”

He turned his head around and gave a quick order, and nudged his horse’s sides. He and his squad disappeared into the sea of soldiers without another word, although Midia’s eye lingered on the Whitewings for a bit longer, as if still half-expecting danger. She was no fool – after all, how many Grustians had Midia not fought before Archanea fell? How many of her friends had she not seen stomped into the ground under Grustain hooves? Despite understanding, anger flared within Minerva. She glared at Midia.  
_Leave them alone_ , she wanted to hiss at her, but managed to suppress the urge.

Midia finally looked away, and followed after Hardin’s bow paladins. Caeda didn’t say any formal farewells – she hadn’t looked away from the drawbridge where Marth had gone. She gave Minerva a distracted nod before she took to the air and followed the stream of people from above.

 

Minerva could taste the thick disappointment that hung in the air around the flow of soldiers, despite the plentiful laughs and eager voices. Perhaps seeing their beloved prince leader stoic and stiff seeped doubt into the best of moods, but Minerva refused to sink any deeper into it.

Titania let out excited growls from deep in her throat, and the pegasi around her constantly nudged and stroked the wyvern’s face with their own. Palla sat with her back straight and her face perfectly still, and Catria’s eyes scanned the crowd that passed them with fascinated care.  
With those sights, how could Minerva let sadness into her heart?  _This is as it should be_.

She locked eyes with Maria on the other side of the courtyard, and couldn’t help bouncing a little in her saddle as she waved at her.  
Maria’s eyes widened and she left Cain’s side without looking at him. She broke into a jog, then a run.

Minerva heard Catria’s high pitched laugh from beside her, and Palla was the first to dismount with a stuttering laughter of her own.  
When all three of them had dismounted, they were almost tackled to the ground as Maria threw herself into the center of their warm embrace.

“Look at you, lil’sis”, Catria whooped and rustled Maria’s hair, causing her diadem to sit crooked. “And here I thought nothing could top seeing your big old sister again.”

“You’ve grown so much”, Palla smiled, and to Minerva, her face was shining like a star.

The Whitewings loosened their grip, but did not let go. They held their arms around each other and simply breathed together, huffed giggles from Catria and silent happy sobs from Maria.

“How’s this possible?” Maria finally said through her tears. “I let Minerva out of my sight for half an hour and— How—?“

Catria grinned at her. “Grust wanted us for a little expedition – though lucky us they didn’t know we’d run into your big sis first thing. Fair enough, we didn’t know either.”

Maria sniffled and let out another laugh. “Thank the Divines”, she whispered. “This must be a work of wonder.”

They let go of each other, but Maria still held on to Minerva’s arm. She didn’t seem aware of it herself, it was just one of her many places of home. Palla’s smile had died down ever so slightly, and Minerva was not the only one to notice. Catria looked into her sister’s face and her expression sobered.

“Hey, Maria, before you ask...” Catria bit her lip and looked to the side for a moment. “I know you’ll wonder about Est. She is – to our knowledge – doing fine. She left us to do some dumb, brave things, but she’s coming back. We just don’t know when.”

Maria’s smile faltered as well, and it hurt worse inside Minerva from seeing it. _No, Est is fine... She’s fine._

“I did wonder why she wasn’t with you”, Maria said and lifted her gaze to the sky, searching the clouds. “I thought she was somewhere around here... You’re telling me she’s... She’s not?”

Palla shook her head, and her gaze grew more distant, similar to how she tried to hide her emotions when she and Minerva had just gotten to know each other. That was so long ago, and Palla had never hesitated since to show expressions of pain in front of Minerva. So why now? What sort of suffering had she endured? Palla was much thinner than usual. In the afternoon sun her cheekbones cast deep shadows on her face, her wrists lean when she clutched her fists. Minerva was overcome by an urge to take her hand, but felt unsure it would do any good. And that uncertainty surprised her. Why did she suddenly doubt herself?

She hugged Maria’s shoulders a little tighter, tried to anchor herself in the moment.

“Est is capable on her own”, she tried to comfort Maria. “And as soon as she hears we’re fine, she’ll come right our way.”

“I would have loved to see her”, Maria mumbled, but then she lifted her head higher and smiled again at Catria and Palla. “I’m incredibly grateful to finally meet the two of you again. Don’t think anything else.”

“Of course not”, Catria smiled back. “We miss her too.”

The League’s movement was a blur around them. They stood quietly for a few moments, to let some of the noise die down.

“So...” Catria uncertainly broke the silence with a thoughtful look at Maria. “You’re out on the battlefield, then?”

Maria chuckled and fidgeted with her feet. “I am”, she said, her eyes darting down to the ground. “I only heal people at the moment, but Lena said today that I might be able to produce light magic as well. She saw me shimmering when Cain was in dan— when I got _stressed_ , I mean.”

Maria glanced up on Minerva as she said it and Minerva raised a curious brow at her, although she had no time to say anything before Catria interrupted her.

“Oh, you’re so _grown up_ ”, Catria squealed and clasped her hands under her chin. “I’m so proud, lil’ sister-princess.”

“I missed hearing you say that”, Maria giggled, and rested her head on Minerva’s upper arm. Her diadem clinked against Minerva’s armor when she rocked on her heels.

“I think this must be the second best day of my life”, she whispered. “If only Est were here, it’d be perfect.” She stopped rocking, and her eyebrows drew together into a determined frown. “I’ll fight, if it means she’ll return safely. She was the strong one when we were small, but I’ve gotten stronger now. I’ll fight anyone to get her home.”

Minerva noticed a small smile in the corner of Palla’s lips, and in Minerva’s mind it broke through like sunshine behind a cloud. Minerva rested her cheek on Maria’s head with a broad smile of her own.

“You won’t fight alone, little hero”, she chuckled and hugged Maria’s arm tighter. “Make sure you learn a lot of that light magic from Lena, though. I’d be calmer if your first option weren’t to walk up to people and hit them with your staff.”

Maria giggled, her head bobbled under Minerva’s chin.

“What was that?” Catria exclaimed. “Maria, have you actually...?”

Maria’s giggle became a laugh, and she let go of Minerva. “Divines, I have _so_ much to tell you!” Maria took Catria's arm with one of her toothy smiles. "I can tell you on the way back, yeah?"

Maria’s gaze stopped on Palla for a moment, but then she grinned a little broader. Minerva wasn’t sure she recognized that grin – was it mischievous? Hopeful?

“You two catch up later, right?” Maria asked. Minerva only nodded at her, still unsure what the twinkle in Maria’s eye meant, but she got no more time to ponder it. Maria led Catria along to follow the remaining stream of soldiers, her voice carrying over to Minerva as she began the story of her first days on the battlefield. Catria’s Pegasus walked contently behind her without the need of Catria holding the reins, and the three figures quickly reached the drawbridge.

 

Minerva stood completely still for a moment. She didn’t exactly dare to look at Palla, now that they stood alone. Minerva feared to face the sorrow she hadn’t been able to save her from, didn’t want to face the guilt that ate at her heart. At the same time, she could hardly restrain herself, she wanted to never let her eyes off Palla, as if she could disappear from her life again if Minerva so blinked.

She glanced over to Palla, as carefully as she could. Her face was warm and gentle, but her eyes shimmered.

“She looks so strong”, Palla said, her gaze set on the three figures disappearing through the drawbridge. Minerva turned her head to look Maria, and nodded slightly. Her little sister was still frail in her body, far from the bulkiness of the rest of their family – but in the way she walked, the way her back was straight, spoke of resolution and strength beyond anything else.

“I still can’t believe any of this”, Palla continued, and Minerva turned her eyes back on her. She was drying her eyes with the back of her fingers.”Only yesterday, I felt nothing, and today, I am...” She looked at Minerva with a shaky smile. “It’s a bit much. I’m sorry.”

Palla’s Pegasus walked forward and nudged her carefully, snorting so her hair flew out like a fan. Palla took his reins and stroked the side of his face.

Minerva felt rooted to the ground, but she couldn’t figure out why. She wanted to walk closer, but as she did, her feet felt clumsy and weak. Palla still hadn’t looked away, but she regarded Minerva with a hint of confusion when Minerva took another step forward.

“Palla, it’s... It is I who should be sorry.” Minerva lifted her hand, finding Palla’s. They enclosed each other like so many times before.  _A home. A shield._

Minerva’s throat nearly clogged, and she bent her head. She couldn’t run from her guilt, and she no longer wanted to.

“You’ve been dragged into my personal battles”, she said. “And while I have tried to lessen that burden, much of your pain is because of me. And those months ago, I couldn’t keep you out of Grust, I couldn’t stay with you – and I feel like I... I left you to suffer. I failed you, and no apology can right that wrong.”

Palla hugged her hand and let her head rest on her Pegasus’ face.

“Oh, Minerva – don’t”, she whispered back. “There’s no need to apologize. I made my choice. Your battles are my battles, no matter where that may take me. You shouldn’t feel troubled for my sake.” She lifted their entangled hands almost to the level of their faces, her eyes once again shimmering with tears.

Had Palla said one thing, and meant another?

Minerva wanted to hug her hand in response, but she couldn’t will herself to do so. Now that she once again could hear her heart’s voice, and now that the initial surge of joy had passed, she just felt stiff around Palla. She tried to brush that thought away, and gave her friend a shaky smile. She wanted to say something, something that could kill the doubt inside her.

“I can’t really understand how this is real, either”, Minerva stumbled. “It’s so strange, I mean, you’re here, in... In Grustian armor. Black and silver actually suit you, though. I mean, you look... Extraordinary. Fearsome.”

Palla blinked her tears away, and her lips thinned as she let go of Minerva’s hand. She began to pull off her cloak, then folded it and hung it over her arm. Minerva felt a flush at the base of her throat.

 _Gods_. That had definitely not been the right thing to say.

“Thank you”, Palla answered, a bit stiffly. “Even though I’m not fond of these colors, I wasn’t as eager as Catria to waste perfectly good fabric. It’s warm, but that’s where my love for it ends. Thank you for reminding me, it’s time I pack it away.”

“Of course”, Minerva hastily added. “Your old armor suits you much better, I merely—“

She stopped herself before she said anything else, wanted to bite her tongue. What was the _matter_ with her?

To her relief, she saw another small smile play at the corners of Palla’s lips.

“I’m glad you think so”, she said as she placed her leather pauldrons in her saddlebag and tore at her black jacket, slid it off her shoulders. It revealed her usual breastplate, although it was not as polished as Minerva remembered it being before. Beneath it, Palla’s usual chainmail rested atop her worn down linen tunic, and from her saddle bag she pulled out her red scarf with golden edges, and placed it around her neck.

Palla turned to her again and fingered the edge of her scarf with a tired smile. “Grust didn’t want me to keep it”, she explained and pulled the scarf closer to her chin. “But I couldn’t let go of it.”

Minerva’s vision smudged before her, and she blinked as hard as she could to compose herself. She had a hundred things to say, but why wouldn’t her tongue cooperate – why could she barely think? She dug her gauntlet into her palm. It had been almost three months since they’d seen each other last. She just wasn’t used to having Palla around her again. That was the reason she felt so different.

“Hey.” The sound came from behind Minerva, and she turned her head. The giant figure of Draug had stopped by the drawbridge to grin at Minerva and Palla.  
“Ya probably didn’t hear, but Fray said that the last ones to arrive at the camp has to chop all the vegetables! Better get a move on, small ones!”

Draug tended to pay no great mind to detail, but the fact that he didn’t question the addition of a green-haired Pegasus knight to their army warmed Minerva’s heart. It hunted away some of Minerva’s uncertainty, and she lifted her chin with a slight smile.

“No need to worry for us”, she called back to him. “We can fly, remember?”

Draug lowered his head and started walking again.

“Ah, that’s what I get for being honest. Kitchen duty for me, then!” He grinned and waved at them as he too disappeared through the drawbridge.

Minerva’s eyes travelled over the empty courtyard, and her gaze finally landed on Palla.

 

Palla looked so at home in her ordinary clothes and armor, and her face was so perfectly outlined in the afternoon light. The scars cast small shadows over her skin, and Minerva thought she saw one that was unfamiliar along Palla’s jawline. Minerva moved instinctively as to touch it, like she had so many times before with Palla’s new scars – but she saw Palla’s eyes grow wary, and Minerva’s hand jerked ever so slightly backwards.  _This isn’t the same. What is the matter with me?_

Minerva’s heart beat in a confused gallop, and she decided to back away altogether.

“Well, ah, maybe we _should_ get a move on”, Minerva mumbled. “I’ve never quite gotten along with vegetables. And we should take this chance to show you and Catria around the League’s camp and introduce you. I’m sure Maria will gladly join.”

Palla stroked her hand, the hand that had minutes before enclosed Minerva’s. A small smile played on her lips, but she still blinked tears away from her eyes.

“That does sound appealing”, she whispered.

 

It was a relief to leave the courtyard and the capital of Gra behind, to once again see the familiar dots of the Archanean League’s tents from above.  
But there was something other than the usual remaining battle-stress that made Minerva’s pulse hammer and her head feeling dim.

For the life of her, she still couldn’t figure out what it was.


	50. By the Fire

Marth did not show up to the dinner after their battle with Gra. Neither did Caeda.

Minerva didn’t think much of it. She couldn’t reflect on their painful expressions from when she last saw them, she was busy enough trying to decipher the ones around her. She sat huddled between Maria and Palla, with Catria beside Maria, comfortably wrapped in two layers of cloaks.

 

Almost the entire League had assembled in a circle around the campfire, laughter mixing with the smell of potato soup. At the jolly group’s request, Catria and Palla took their turn to stand by the light of the fire and call out their names and purposes. Catria grinned and cried her name for all to hear, and was met by a cheer that made her cheeks burn.

Palla, on the other hand, arose quietly. She slipped effortlessly through the crowd, then stopped with her back to the flames, taking Catria’s place. Her jaw was set as she searched for Minerva’s gaze, and when she found it she held it firm, without any sound. The League around her quieted to a buzz of whispering voices, one or two confused glances thrown her way. Minerva tried to give Palla what she thought was an encouraging nod, but Palla looked away before then. Staring into nothingness, Palla proclaimed her own name in her warm but relentless voice.

The League responded with hearty cheers, although their happiness seemed to merely bounce off Palla’s skin. She didn’t smile in the least. She walked back to her place between Catria and Minerva, more focused on the bowl of soup that Maria reached out to her than on the people beside her.

Minerva scooted to the side, attempting to not let Palla’s expressionless eyes worry her.  _She’s hungry_ , her thoughts whispered to her. _Don’t be a fool._

 

When most of the company around the campfire had finished their portions, Darros took it upon himself to share one of his stories. He stood tall and waved his bowl around while he spoke loudly in his incomprehensible dialect.

“So I swabbled er’ry openin I had, such shame, I even dropped me axe like the sloppy armed Jack Tar I be!”

Darros crouched and let his gaze wander over the crowd dramatically. Perhaps he captivated some of them, but Minerva only blinked, trying her best to follow his words.

“I thought fer sure I were bein' a goner, but there Marth be – a dazzlin’ manoever an’ then I be saved, bu’ me knees just dinna hold me up, so I were fallin’ like a mast in its creation!”

Minerva could hear on his tone that he told a joke, but the only one close to her to laugh was Catria. The Whitewing earned an earnest smile from Darros, but she didn’t notice, she looked to the side on Minerva and Maria.

“What”, Catria giggled them. “You didn’t think it was funny?”

Minerva only shrugged, knowing that she couldn’t pretend, and she noticed Maria shifting uncomfortably beside her. Realization dawned on Catria’s face, and she grinned broadly at Minerva.

“Could translate it to you if you’d wanna”, she teased at them. Minerva shook her head, even though Catria wasn’t looking at her any longer. She was already leaning over and elbowing Darros in the side to get his attention, speaking to him in the broad country accent she’d had as a child. Darros brightened visibly, and responded in his own way.

The two dialects were quite similar, Minerva had to admit. She looked toward Palla, to see if she too showed interest in the conversation. Palla had been raised in the mountains for longer than Catria had – she should understand Darros splendidly. But she sat quietly, watching the flames of the campfire. She’d barely touched her food.

The sight stabbed at Minerva’s mind, her thoughts pulsating worry like a wound does pain – and not for the first time that evening. During their earlier tour of the League’s camp, Palla had been silent, unusually so. Minerva had tried to catch her eye, but Palla had in turn had hers set on anything but Minerva, and sometimes Minerva got the feeling she was only pretending to listen to what Maria said. It wasn’t like her. Something was amiss, but what?

 _I can’t be selfish and pry like this_ , Minerva reminded herself. _It took me a long time to settle into the League as well._

Palla should get to process everything in peace, and ‘ _peace_ ’ clearly didn’t include Minerva. Palla needed time alone, of course; after so many months apart, they couldn’t just return to what they’d been so easily. Minerva had to accept that – she _should_ accept that – but the worry glaced her every thought and she could no longer ignore it.  
_One question. Just one._

Minerva placed her empty bowl down at her feet, and as she was about to straighten, she attempted to catch Palla’s eye.

“Hey, I’m just… wondering. Are you all right?” Minerva said, feeling a knot inside her tighten from the fear of being met by more silence. To her relief, Palla’s eyes darted toward her, and she gave a shaky smile.

“I suppose I miss Est”, Palla whispered. “She’d be happy here.”

Minerva nodded and straightened. Of course.

“Yes… Yes she would. We’ll save a spot for her for when she returns.”

Minerva tried to keep any doubts out of her voice, and did her best to give an encouraging smile, but once again, Palla looked away and back into the fire.

“Thank you, Commander.”

Minerva felt a rock land at the bottom of her belly. Palla’s tone of voice might as well have been a hammer striking her down – it was such a stark contrast to the way she’d spoken Minerva’s name only hours before. Was this—?

“Princesses of Macedon!”

Minerva turned her head with a jolt, Maria spinning around beside her and taking an instinctive hold of Minerva’s arm.

Prince Hardin stood at the edge of the dinner circle with his hands clasped behind his back, gave the two of them a formal dip of his brow.

“Prince Marth has called to our next war council”, he continued. “It will be held tonight, in his own private tent. I suggest you go on ahead, while I find us Empress Nyna.”

Maria arose as soon as Hardin had turned to walk away, but Minerva hesitated.

“Will you be fine?” she whispered to Palla. She got another weak smile in return, but no eye contact.

“I told you not to trouble yourself for my sake.”

That if something told Minerva something was definitely wrong, but although her mind spun, she could think of nothing in response. Another round of laughs was heard around the circle, but Palla’s face didn’t move. A statue of indifference, the only thing that shifted in her eyes was the flicker of fire.

“Well, ah, if you say so”, Minerva whispered back, all while cursing herself for not understanding what was happening with her. “I’ll see you soon.”


	51. Falchionless

Marth had left the old council tent to some new recruits the League had picked up in the Archanean southern harbor. Marth's claim was that the soldier's comfort outweighed the need for a tent with a glamorous purpose, and no one could disagree.

They’d had no proper war council since that decree, the leaders had only assembled outside the camp to discuss their ideas while the wind tore at their hair. The new solution to have their meeting inside Marth’s private tent felt a bit out of place to Minerva – she didn’t mind the protection from the unyielding wind, but she was fairly certain they could have picked any other tent than his.

She wouldn’t argue the choice though, she’d rather just have this meeting over with. She uncertainly knocked on the tent’s fabric before opening the tent flap.

“Prince Marth”, she said as she stepped inside. “We’re—“

She interrupted herself, and would have backed out again if she hadn’t collided with Maria standing behind her. Maria let out a grunt, but stood firm enough for Minerva to be held back, and she didn’t want to push her. Caught in the entrance, Minerva simply stopped and gawked.

 

Marth sat crouched on the ground in the middle of the tent. Not in a way that a grand leader who expected important guests would; he didn’t even look up, didn’t seem to have noticed them. He held his hands pressed to the sides of his head, as if trying to shut out the world, as if alone even as he rested against Caeda’s embrace. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t even seem to breathe aside from the occasional hacking, wet sobs.

Caeda was the one to look up and meet Minerva’s stunned gaze. She gave Minerva a weak smile as an acknowledgement before she leaned in closer to Marth’s face and stroked his back.

“You’ll be fine”, Caeda comforted him. “I’ll stay with you for as long as you need.”

Marth gave a response too quiet for Minerva to be able to hear, something that had Caeda close her eyes and rest her cheek against his head.

“I know”, she whispered back.

Minerva didn’t really question the sight, not when the initial shock had settled. Instead, an odd queasiness took place in her heart, along with the image of Palla’s disappointed face.

Maria’s grip on her arm faded the image in her mind, and she heard Maria let out a quiet ‘ _oh divines, sorry_ ’ before she immediately began to back out of the entrance. Minerva moved to follow, but Marth suddenly looked up. His bloodshot eyes pierced hers, and although Minerva had never seen him like this before, she could finally recognize the glow in his eyes. In agony or not, that was still _Marth_ in there, not the mask of stone that he’d worn these past weeks.

“What’s it like to be so angry”, Marth asked tonelessly, “What was it like to be so overcome with vengeance, you forget what you want and who you are, and kill another human… with glee?”

His voice cracked at the end of his sentence, but his eyes didn’t falter. Maria stopped and let the tent flap fall behind her again. Minerva stood silent for a moment, merely stared back at Marth. Did he even want her to answer? Why, of all people, did he stare at _her_ as if she’d know what to do?

“I can’t claim to know anger any better than you”, Minerva answered him, “But do not mistake relief with glee. This is about king Jiol, I expect; you have a right to be furious with him still – that anger won’t change whether he’s dead or alive. Although dead, he can torment this continent no longer.”

She tasted bile from the words she didn’t speak aloud, tried to suppress the prickling in her fingers that always crept forth when her thoughts turned to her brother. She didn’t look at Maria, only clenched her fists behind her back. This was not the time or place to think of him.

Marth slumped a little. If it was from disappointment, Minerva didn’t know. She couldn’t do anything about it either way - Marth was the one with unyielding conviction, who hoped for the good and just to show itself within every person no matter their past crimes – the face of peace that brought inspiration to all of Doluna’s victims. A heavy burden for one so young, and perhaps a blow to his sense of self was more than he could bear; but friend or not, what could a worn down Macedonan traitor possibly give as consolation?

“Jiol’s death… It’s not what I thought it would be”, Marth whispered and dried his eyes. “I only feel _more_ anger now, and not even at him anymore, it’s... me. I walked in to Jiol wanting to give him a second chance, perhaps even a third, but he denied me any chance to speak… and I cannot stop thinking about the… The satisfaction within me when he chose death.”

Minerva’s heart ached for him, so she nodded, but she could think of nothing else to say. She should leave him; this was nothing she should get involved in – besides, she didn’t want more pain and confusion, she was confused enough as it was from Palla’s distance. Although Maria seemed to have the opposite idea – she slid past Minerva, and sat down beside the two royals on the floor. She was silent, and carried a small frown, but looked otherwise impassive – yet she radiated attentiveness. She said nothing, and didn’t move aside tilting her head a little. Minerva vaguely recognized that; an invite to speak with the knowledge that she’d silently listen.

Marth looked up and regarded her, his tears still streaming down his cheeks, but his sobs somewhat stilled. They all stayed still for a long minute, before a shiver moved through Marth’s body and he lowered his arms to pull his cloak tighter around him.

“I’m scared of my own self”, Marth finally whispered. “I’m—“

“Excuse me, coming through.” Prince Hardin lifted the tent flap, and his voice boomed in contrast to the stillness inside the tent. Hardin wrung past Minerva with eager steps and no thought to take a proper look inside before he did. Empress Nyna followed right behind him, with – to Minerva’s surprise – Linde at her side.  
Marth blinked and wiped his eyes again, then cleared his throat.

“I didn’t expect this many visitors tonight”, he said politely, his head cocked to one side as he faced them all. His cheeks still shone from tears.  
Prince Hardin froze in place, and he too seemed keen to back out of the tent altogether.

“It’s the council, sire”, Hardin explained with only the slightest shiver of doubt in his voice. “We discussed it just a half hour ago.”

“Oh.” Marth straightened and brushed his forelocks out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, perhaps we did. My mind has been quite occupied. Did I miss anything else?”

“Nothing of importance, I don’t think – although Macellan and Frey made potato soup”, Caeda smiled at him, carefully letting go of his shoulders. Marth chuckled, some of the dark shadows disappearing from his face.

“Thank you, yes, I remember that. Those two could cook shoelaces and have them taste divine.”

Caeda straightened as well, but she kept a protective hand between Marth’s shoulder blades.

“Have a seat”, she gestured at the visitors, and everyone obeyed on the spot. Uncomfortable as it was to sit on the ground, neither of them had much choice – they usually stood while counselling, but there was nothing on Gra that could work as a makeshift table, so they had to make do.

Minerva had removed her pauldron and gorget before dinner, but the edges of the remaining armor cut into her joints. The design was meant for a saddle, not for sitting on the flat cold ground.

“Malledus was feeling ill.” Prince Hardin directed his words at Marth, uncomfortably fidgeting with his hands. “He sends his apologies for not attending.”

Marth gave another weak smile. “The days on the sea were not kind to poor Malledus. I hope he feels better soon.” Marth then drew a breath, and sat straighter. “Very well, since we’re all here, I will pronounce this council opened.”

Nyna had held the Archanean map in her hands, and at Marth’s words, she spread it out using four rocks. The earth was dry, and some of the dirt stirred and landed over the map’s southern parts. Macedon and Doluna got covered in what looked like a gloomy cloud. Minerva did not lean forward to brush it away, and neither did anyone else.

“First thing on the agenda”, Nyna began, a frown wrinkling her smooth forehead. “The Holy Falchion.” Her gaze darted to Minerva for a short moment before it landed on Caeda.

“I know you two sky knights were not present, so I will now officially inform you. The Falchion was not found in King Jiol’s possession, as we believed it would be. We could have searched his castle for days in vain if it wasn’t for Linde.”

Minerva’s eyes turned to the right of her, where Linde sat on her knees with her golden tome in her lap. The chestnut-haired mage bent her head, did not meet anyone’s gaze. She still sat like a noble, and her expression was as brave as Minerva remembered from the night Linde had stood by a bonfire, roaring out her name and promise to avenge her father. There was something different about her now. Her eyes shivered in place, as if she used all her energy to align her thoughts.  _She’s afraid._

Minerva had rarely seen Linde up close, and she felt a strange twinge at her heart at the thought that perhaps Linde had that fear in her eyes most of the time, only that she didn’t let people get close enough to notice. Minerva set the thought aside; this fear might very well be something new, something born out of a catastrophe at the castle.

“As you already know”, Linde began, her tone of voice almost bored, as if rehearsing a script. “My father was the pontifex Miloah, pupil to the immortal White Sage. In our time, the White Sage is better known as Gotoh, which perhaps some of you may recognize – and it is common knowledge that this great master chooses a pupil only once per two hundred years. Although, what most people don’t know was that Gotoh had two pupils recently – my father was the first, and the other was Doluna’s current pet, Gharnef.”

Linde leaned into a thoughtful pause, and no one around her attempted to fill the silence with their questions. Minerva chewed on the inside of her cheek.

 _Gharnef.  
_ She’d heard that name countless times, she’d even seen him once before – he’d been the one to welcome the Macedonan army to Doluna, six years ago and at first, Minerva had mistaken him for a standing corpse. His skin was a light gray with patches hanging free, ready to melt off his flesh. Minerva was certain she could have been able to pick up the wrongness about his existence regardless of his exterior – he didn’t move like he breathed, he was composed in a way simple human discipline could not accomplish; his stillness as if he wasn’t truly alive at all. She hadn’t had much time or thought to spend on this creature beyond her first impression – Gharnef had simply overseen the exchange of Minerva’s prowess to Doluna, then disappeared to thin air. Among the hundreds of thousands of soldiers Minerva had encountered, none were like Gharnef. She’d been relieved to have him not bother with her or her troops any time after, although she had still heard his name ring among the Dolunans every now and again. Soldiers and generals alike had spat his name, but their voice had always trembled.

 _Gharnef_.  
Scorned, but feared. How could he be cut from the same cloth as Linde’s father? Granted, Minerva had never known the father or this White Sage, but she found it difficult to believe any immortal master would willingly teach someone like Doluna’s pet.

“Gharnef was a good friend to my father”, Linde continued. She spoke slowly, hiding less of the shiver in her speech. ”I even met him a couple of times, before the war started. Although he and my father had quite opposite interests – Gharnef for the dark arts, and my father for light magic – they remained close. There was but once that the White Sage discriminated between them, and perhaps he was right to do so. The White Sage did not trust Gharnef with a secret he told my father; that in his possession the White Sage held a dark spell for immortality. He wanted to teach my father of its dangers, why it should never be used, something he argued Gharnef’s curious mind could never resist. Rarely is he wrong. Gharnef somehow learned of the Sage’s decision, how he did I cannot know, just as I cannot know what the man thought before he made the fateful decision to wring the dark spell of immortality from the White sage and use it, becoming a man no longer. Some of these things my father told me – he’d journeyed home for us to flee, but we never got past our kitchen door before Gharnef himself came to my family’s house.”

Linde paused to breathe. Her voice had trembled ever so slightly, and this visibly annoyed her. She steeled her face further, and continued, “We fought him, my father and I. But not even the brightest light magic known to us could slay him. A man no more, I called him, and I stand by that. Twisted and in agony from the darkness – but undefeatable all the same.”

Linde lifted her Aura tome in front of her and regarded it thoughtfully.

“My father managed to hold Gharnef back enough for me to make our planned escape and ever since that day I kept hidden, wandered the land of Archanea. Until Marth and Nyna found me, and I.. decided to become myself yet again.”

Linde’s eyes darted to Nyna on her right, then she looked back on her tome, let her fingers stroke its edges. A torn, dusty book. All that was left of her father’s legacy.  
Minerva’s chest ached at the sight of her longing, reminding herself of Minerva’s own. _War leaves no family whole._

“The reason I tell you this”, Linde continued, “is because I need you to understand what Gharnef is, so you can grasp what I’m about to tell you.” She cleared her throat, and her face wrinkled into a frown.

“My father taught me to trace and sense magic auras, a skill that comes second nature to me. To make it fathomable for you, I will compare magic tracing to the way hunters track a deer. I have been in Gharnef’s presence, something I can never forget – the tome he held radiated such darkness, it burns at my skin even now, six years later. And so, I cannot be more certain when I say that Doluna’s pet himself has been inside Gra castle – and recently. Perhaps only weeks before we got here. The League’s march and intent might not have been that much of a secret to him. He stole the Falchion before we could reach it.”

The time of Gharnef quietness was at an end, the mere memory of his impossible existence clamming against Minerva’s skin. Doluna’s dragon emperor, the entirety of Grust, Michalis himself with Macedon under his heel – they had enough impossible foes, didn’t need any more of them.

The remaining nobles seemed to have similar thoughts – all of them carrying equally deep frowns, except Maria who rubbed her thumb over her lower lip repeatedly. The silence lay damp around them.

Prince Hardin was the one to break it.

“Thank you for sharing your story”, he said. “But would you perhaps care to explain further why you’re so certain Gharnef’s supposed presence is connected to the disappearance of the Falchion?”

Linde lowered her tome and looked right at the prince. A glare that was rude at best and punishable at worst. The fear Minerva had sensed in her was far gone now, replaced by anger; this noble mage clearly did not take well on being questioned.

“In the royal treasury, there was an aura of divine magic.” Linde spoke slowly, as if explaining the simplicity of rain to a child. “The Falchion was originally a fang from the greatest Divine Dragon, Naga. Even though I’ve never been close to the Falchion before, I couldn’t be more certain. Nothing else could radiate such divinity. Gharnef’s dark tome-aura still lingered in the air though, spoiling it. The two aura’s blended together, so I speak with great certainty; the Falchion was there, before Gharnef warped inside to take it with him.”

Maria shuffled beside Minerva, and leaned forward over the map to frown at Linde.

“Warp?” Maria asked unsurely. “If he did such a thing, he must have had a magician assist him inside the castle – we could ask their royal healers for information!”

“What makes you say that?” Caeda tilted her head and squinted at Maria.

Maria sat perfectly still, apart from her left hand where she twirled the fabric of her skirt around her fingers. She carried herself with greater confidence at war councils now compared to the first she’d attended, but she still had to fidget with something as she spoke.

“To be able to warp”, Maria explained with a quick look on Linde, “One needs a staff channelling the magic that is derived from the line between earth and sky. There’s a lot of power needed, and it could tear a person apart. When staffs channels the magic, the staff will be the one breaking rather than the targeted body. That’s why such staves are so rare – they break after only a few uses. A mending staff won’t break, because Earth magic is softer than the kind used for warps or other powerful spells.“

“But why would Gharnef need assistance to be able to use the staff, then?” Caeda had started to redden at the base of her throat, something Minerva recognized from teaching the sky knight signal language to her. If Caeda struggled to understand something right away, she’d quiet down and her cheeks would redden; her focus sharpened from it, but she was clearly not comfortable. As if ashamed for not knowing everything.

“Oh”, Maria blurted, flushing slightly as well. “Sorry, that’s common knowledge for me – what I mean is that a staff like that cannot be wielded by the same person who means to warp. That would focus the magic through the person and the staff, rather than just the staff. Then, both would break. I’ve read that a magician could technically cast a warp spell without a staff and thus without assistance, but the same texts say one should never attempt it.”

Minerva felt an ache at the base of her head and the sides of her jaw – Caeda was not the only one confused by this new information. Minerva had lived blissfully ignorant of most magic, and trying to comprehend anything beyond the Earth Magic she was used to caused an ache inside her skull.

“Thank you for clarifying in my place, your highness”, Linde smiled at Maria, seemingly grateful for a pause. “You are absolutely right, in normal circumstances he must have had assistance from a castle healer – but what you explained now does not apply to Gharnef. When he came to our home all those years ago, he could warp at will. Like so.” Linde relaxed her shoulders, and closed her eyes. In the next moment, she had disappeared in a cloud of sparkling dust, and reappeared between Caeda and Maria. She panted, and arose on wobbly legs.

Minerva only blinked, and she caught most of her fellow royals doing the same – Caeda’s strained expression was gone, replaced by awe, while Nyna had placed a hand over her chest with a quiet gasp. The only one who wasn’t bewildered was Maria. Her eyes gleamed as she whispered a quiet ‘ _no way_ ’, leaning over to get a good look at Linde’s face. Linde gave her a small twitch of her lips, and Maria broke into a toothy smile in return.

“That was a warp”, Linde breathed. She leaned forward, supported herself with her arms on her thighs. It was the first time Minerva saw her compromised by performing her magic. “Princess Maria is right – it should not be toyed with. The White Sage taught both my father and Gharnef how to warp without the help of staves, and his way is safer than the methods found in books. But there’s a limit to it – I could never warp any greater distance than what you just saw. I’d be grasping at magic that is too far away, that I can’t reach – and that would most certainly kill me. In Khadein, the kingdom of magic, I wouldn’t be as limited since magic resources flow in abundance there – but outside of their desert-borders, that freedom would soon be gone.”

“And yet you’re telling us”, Hardin interjected, “that Gharnef popped inside Gra’s castle walls – five stories up, mind you – and out again?”

Linde gave the prince another one of her dangerous glares, and moved to sit down between Minerva and Nyna again.

“In contrast to me, Gharnef cannot exhaust himself, and cannot die”, she huffed as she corrected her skirts and tome in her lap. “He won’t need a staff. He could probably warp anywhere, at any time – even outside of Khadein. Warping inside the castle of Gra and back is not a challenge for him.”

Marth rested his chin in his hands and looked intently at the map on the floor. He parted his lips slowly and inhaled visibly, ready to speak – but Hardin interrupted his attempt. Hardin couldn’t have noticed Marth, his eyes were focused on Linde with the slightest light of disapproval in his gaze.

“I’m sorry to be the sceptic, mage”, Hardin began. “I merely don’t want us to do any hasty conclusions. If you insist it, I will not argue the fact that Gharnef was inside the castle. But what makes you so sure that the Falchion was truly there, to begin with? Couldn’t such a ‘ _divine aura_ ’ you felt in the treasury be _any_ legendary weapons, like the stolen Archanean regalias?”

Linde slammed her tome into her lap.

“It could _not_ ”, she answered him, her tone level but somehow it fell like a huge weight on the air around them. She pointed her finger at Minerva, and Minerva instinctively shot back. Had she angered Linde in some way?

“ _That_ ”, Linde said while pointing, “does not in any way feel similar to the divine aura in the treasury. It is an ancient, strange power – but not _divine_.”

It took another moment for Minerva to realize Linde referred to Hauteclare over her back.

“And the regalia that our archer carries is filled with light”, Linde continued, “but it’s not divine either.”

Prince Hardin’s frown deepened, and he turned his gaze on Marth. “We have a regalia?”

Marth paled a little and looked toward Nyna. The Archanean Empress bent her head, but she met Hardin’s gaze head-on.

“Much of the Archanean palace had been plundered of magic staves and weapons”, Nyna said. “That you know. Although, late one evening, I found the bow Parthia in a secret safe in my mother’s old chambers. You were not present at the time, so I entrusted it to Marth.”

“I’m sorry that those news never reached you”, Marth said with an apologetic look on Hardin. “I gave it to Gordin for safekeeping, although he won’t use it unless we face another manakete, since it might break. I considered your bow paladins too of course—”

“No need to explain yourself”, Hardin said and leaned back, hands clasped over his plackart. “I understand. I would have liked to know, is all.”

The air thickened with the silence that followed. Maria twisted uncomfortably beside Minerva, and Linde sat stiffly with a worried look on Nyna.

Minerva didn’t mind. She let her eyes half close while she rested her cheek in her hand; a tiny bit of awkwardness during a war council was a merry comfort compared to the Dolunan ways. If anything, she was grateful for the chance to think in silence once again.

 

She still understood only half of what had been told of Gharnef’s magic. She tried to recollect the image of Linde disappearing into thin air, tried to break it down into rational, comprehensible pieces. There had been Dolunan generals that dabbled in such magic, but Minerva had ignored them as soon as she’d declared them not to be a threat to her.

She could remember those generals say their praise to Gharnef, and she also remembered their hazy laughs as they now could ‘ _do the impossible, challenge the master himself_ ’. Most of those generals were never heard from again, and Minerva hadn’t cared to find out what happened to them. If she judged Linde’s words as the full truth, she could now dare to guess.

Minerva did not like the idea of facing a foe such as Gharnef – her idea of the greatest power had been Khozen, but what was that manakete if not a subject to greater masters?  
Her pulse intensified in her ears and in the solid silence the sound was like that of a hammer over an anvil.

She had enough headaches, enough foes, enough talk of incomprehensible magic.

“So”, Minerva attempted to slice into the thick silence. “Gharnef has the Falchion. Let us not argue that, anymore. What’s important is what we plan to _do_ about it.”

Her words seemed to have been swallowed by a void. Every noble sat with their own eyes on the map, lips pursed together. Caeda was the one who finally broke the stillness with her answer.

“We do need the holy blade”, she said, clutching her hands into fists. “I have not been eager to take great risks before, but now... My say is that we challenge Gharnef for the Falchion. We hunt him down, and attack him before he can prepare for us.”

Linde put her hands on her hips, and her face once again hardened. “Agreed. I’ve gotten stronger with my Aura magic – I know it was at least enough to keep Gharnef at bay when my father used it. We will not be able to kill him, but we can at least hold him back for long enough to reclaim the sword.”

With Linde’s words, the last of the thick silence shattered. Prince Hardin breathed out in a huff, but the rest of him revealed no trace of impatience.

“Daring words, my friends.” Hardin lifted the map in its top corners, and shook off the dirt before he lifted it and displayed it in front of him. “If Doluna’s dark sorcerer can warp as freely as you say, how could we possibly find him? If he means to hide, he can definitely do so. He could be overseas for all we know – areas we do not even have on our map.”

“He could be, but I don’t think he’d want to leave.” The air changed; Marth’s voice was different now, some of his confidence returned. Minerva’s head moved in unison with the others as they all looked toward him.

The prince’s eyes were still reddened from tears, but his gaze was focused, even as he massaged his temples. “I may not think of Gharnef as familiar to me. I know nothing of his goals or true loyalties. But, I do know my dear friend Merric well enough. He studied at the Mage University in Khadein, and he told me that Gharnef took control of the place before Merric fled. That was six years ago, and we all know Khadein has closed itself shut since then. Its citizens do not walk outside their own borders, and no foreigner may ever get in. There has to be a connection between Gharnef taking the university and Khadein’s isolation. That Merric chose to flee before the borders closed... I am so grateful for it.”

“What you mean to say is, if Gharnef wants to hide from any unwanted disturbances, he’d cower in Khadein?” Prince Hardin slowly placed the map on the ground again, but so it faced Marth instead of Linde. “You base that on assumptions. I’d rather we be certain.”

“I am certain.” Marth glanced up on Caeda, and his jaw tensed. “Linde has given us the answer, already. If Khadein is where mages are at their strongest, then he’ll be there. Gharnef would be a fool if he didn’t use that to his advantage. Especially if he already controls the area. As Caeda said, we should march that way as soon as we can.”

Prince Hardin slowly leaned back with the hint of a sulky look in his eye.

“Many have tried to enter Khadein and take their magic weapons for an advantage in this war”, he said. “My elder brother was one of them, and the soldiers he wasted in doing so... Those are not pretty numbers. No army has so far been able to stand against the merciless magic afoot in that kingdom. Fire erupts within the soldier’s armor if they step onto the sands outside the magic university, invisible blades pierce them before they can reach a single mage. What could we possibly bring to this fight that one hasn’t already tried? Apart from our talented mages, of course.”

Minerva was sure Hardin did not mean the last sentence as a compliment. Linde clearly had the same idea, her fingers tightened around the cover of her tome and her gaze darkened.

“We do have more Pegasus knights now.” Caeda brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and gave a small smile in Minerva’s direction. “With your Whitewings on our side, Minerva, that would certainly make a difference. Mages fear Pegasus knights the way we sky knights fear archers. We need to be vigilant for any wind magician, but according to Merric, that gift is rare, and he brought the university’s only wind tome with him when he fled. With luck, three Pegasus knights can tear through their magic offenses without much trouble.”

Minerva slowly nodded her head. A sudden spark of unwillingness awoke inside her, but she tried to force it down – she’d just had her friends return to her, how could she send them into the fray again? Both Palla and Catria had been thinned and hollowed out by their weeks apart, would they want to return to the battlefield so soon? Palla’s message had been clear when she’d responded to Caeda’s offer for retreat, but the Palla that had been in Minerva’s arms then was not the same as the one who sat quietly by the campfire avoiding Minerva’s gaze.

‘ _Don’t trouble yourself for my sake_ ’. Minerva’s fingertips grew colder.

“I’ll see to it.” Minerva’s voice sounded meek, and her attempt to clear it did no good. She couldn’t refuse, the League needed this victory more than anything else, and yet she had to bite her lip to refrain from speaking against it and demand her Whitewings get the rest they dearly needed.

“That’s good offense”, Maria said with a cautious smile. “With Catria and Palla _and_ you, your highness Caeda, I don’t see how we can possibly lose. Although I have a suggestion for the defensive line – those who lack the innate resistance to magic and those who don’t have magic-resilient mounts should stay in the rear.” Maria tapped her fingers against the back of her hand. “Magic can reach far, but if you people stay back, we frontrunners will be the ones to catch most of the blasts.”

To hear Maria refer to herself as a ‘ _frontrunner_ ’ made the cold spread from Minerva’s fingertips along the bones of her arms.  _Mages can’t do her much harm even if they tried_ , she pushed back at the cold inside her. _Stop squirming so much, for gods sakes._

“Lena and I have the possibility to grant a better innate resistance for all of you”, Maria continued with a quick look on Nyna. “The barrier-staff Julian found in the Archanean palace, we could use that. It is one of those powerful, easy-to-break staves – and it will wear off in time, but I think it’d protect the rest of you enough to save a life or two. That is, unless we don’t want to save it for some other time.”

Nyna gave Maria a warm smile, the first one since she’d entered the tent. “Your suggestion is sound, young princess. This is the one time we know for certain we will face a lot of magic assaults – you and Lena are free to use it how you see fit.”

“Sounds like we’ve decided to march for Khadein, then”, Hardin concluded and crossed his arms. The sour look in his eye remained even though his voice still revealed no such feelings.

“If all are in favour, yes.” Marth slouched more by the second, and he rubbed his eye as he spoke.

“We have much to lose”, Caeda said. “But we have much to win as well. Without the Falchion we won’t have a chance against the army of manakete that defends Doluna – much less the Dragon Emperor himself. For the Falchion, for our victory, it is worth the risk. I say yes.”

Prince Hardin scratched his temple and looked down on the map, avoiding their eyes. “My brother would call me a fool”, he murmured. “Although the idea of a magic barrier protecting my remaining knights from any more fiery death is enough to convince me. Let’s get that sword.”

Minerva and Maria only nodded their approval, leaving Nyna the only one to remain unsure.

“I will not lie”, Nyna said. “This hunger for danger worries me, Marth.” She looked straight at the Altean prince. “Humanity’s hopes rest on your shoulders. I would sooner not see them crushed.”

Marth smiled weakly. “Which? Humanity’s hopes, or my shoulders?”

Minerva let a short laugh escape her, not more than a breath, and the rest of the nobles relaxed their postures, Caeda grinning and elbowing Marth gently in the side. Nyna sat unswayed, however, her frown only deepening as she looked on Caeda and Marth. Perhaps jokes didn’t exist in the holy family of Archanea.

“Have a little more faith in us, Nyna”, Marth continued, more seriously. “I wouldn’t agree to this unless I truly believed we could do it.”

Nyna’s forehead smoothed, and she gave him a dip of her brow.

“Then faith I shall have”, she said. “I agree to this march. Just stay out of harm, Marth.”

The prince quenched a yawn. “Yes, absolutely, sure I will”, he babbled, before he could no longer stop the yawn. He stretched and then curled up further in his cloak.

“Please excuse me”, he said as he rubbed his eye with the cloak’s fabric. “Was there anything else we should discuss?”

Caeda patted him on the shoulder.

“Too polite to tell us to scram, as always”, she chuckled, and then looked up on the others. “We have a goal, now. Let us dismiss the meeting and discuss the detail of our next challenge when we arrive at Khadein’s border.”

Minerva nodded along with the rest of them, relieved to finally get to stand up and exit the sullen atmosphere. They all exchanged their goodnights and some even dared to wish Marth a good rest.

Prince Hardin was the only one who did not smile. He threw a soft look in Nyna’s direction, before his face hardened and he exited the tent.

 _I didn’t know we had a Regalia either_ , Minerva considered telling Hardin, but wasn’t sure if that would be of any comfort. She hadn’t been a part of the diplomatic effort in Archanea in the same way as Hardin. She’d better just leave it.

Minerva did her best attempt at standing, but her joints hurt from sitting on the ground for so long so she supported herself on Maria’s shoulder with a strained huff.

“You act like twice your age! Hold on, let me get that for you”, Maria giggled at Minerva and held the tent flap open for her.

“You try sitting on the ground in this getup, see how comfortable you are”, Minerva scowled at her and knocked twice on her cuisses. Maria only giggled again and slipped out before Minerva, with a short wave to Caeda and Marth. Minerva took it slower. Her knees protested with every step.

“Really, Minerva. You walk like master Talia’s late mother.” Maria stuck out the tip of her tongue at her, something that brought a smile to Minerva’s lips. Finally leaving the heavy air behind acted like the lift of a weight off her shoulders – the wind that howled in her face felt crisp on her cheeks, and the countless small stars in the winter sky gave a gentler light than any dusty lantern. Although without the mess of five nobles stingy from cold weather and disappointing failures, Minerva’s own problems only grew before her, something that dulled her spirits once again. Her smile faltered, and she earned a concerned gaze from Maria.

“You worry about him, too?”

Minerva huffed, and stopped. She glanced up into the sky, then back down on Maria. “You mean Marth? Well. He’s had a rough day, but I think he’ll be fine. Always shocking to find unexpected traits of yourself.”

 _Almost as shocking as finding unexpected traits of someone you used to trust_ , she wanted to add, but her tongue refused. She didn’t want to concern Maria with her thoughts on Michalis, it wasn’t her burden to bear.

“I suppose it is”, Maria nodded. “Hasn’t been an easy day, has it?” A new smile grew in the corners of her mouth, and she too glanced up at the stars. “But there has been plenty of blessings today as well. The divines smiled on us, led Palla and Catria to cross our path. For a moment, I felt like I was home.”

Minerva put her hand against her breastplate, fiddling with the fabric of her collar. It _was_ a fantastic gift to be granted the sight of her friend’s smiling faces once more, but even so, Minerva didn’t feel whole. Not like she had when Palla threw her arms around her, and everything was as it was supposed to be.  
Although to Maria, Minerva merely smiled, and she attempted to start walking again. Her stiff legs had other plans, though.

“Oh, Minerva, how many years will it take? Would you like me to support you?” Maria gave her a mischievous smile, but there was a genuine question in her eyes. Minerva reached as to place her arm over Maria’s shoulders, but instead, she placed her hand on her head and gently tousled her hair.

“No need, little rascal”, Minerva smiled. “You go on ahead. You’ve done enough good work today.”

Maria chuckled and corrected her diadem. “Thanks.” She grinned wider and her eyes narrowed. “Now go get some rest, _grandma_.”

“Rude”, Minerva scoffed and placed her hand on Maria’s opposite shoulder, gave her a hug from the side.

Maria gave her hand a quick squeeze before she ducked under Minerva’s arm.

“I love you too”, she said, still with a grin but with warmth in her eye. “Sleep well, sister.”


	52. A Home, A Shield

Catria was still with the mass of soldiers around the campfire when Minerva arrived. Darros was in the middle of trying to teach Catria a pirate song, and she laughed and shook her head every time he gestured at her to sing the verse alone.

Hearing Catria laugh again spread warmth inside Minerva, but that joy was stopped short as she searched the rest of the assembly of soldiers. Why wasn’t Palla with her sister?

“She went back to her tent”, Catria answered her question with a shining smile. “She said she was tired. Didn’t want me around, she said I shouldn’t bother.”

 _Do not trouble yourself for my sake_. Minerva’s heart became heavier with the thought of Palla’s words. Minerva ached to finally speak with her while no one else around, like they had so many times before. She ached to find an answer to the strange quiver in her chest and the cause for Palla’s signs of discomfort.

She and Palla had shared almost every moment of their lives together, and the secrets they carried within still felt as though shared. Minerva should be content with Palla’s explanation of merely missing Est; but she wasn’t. There was something else, something thick in the air between them, confused crackles of lightning every time their gazes met.

There was a simple answer, one that Minerva tried to push to the side of her mind, but it still slithered forth – emotionless whispers repeating the possibility whenever Minerva failed to push them away.  
_Perhaps their friendship hadn’t survived their months apart._  
_Perhaps they could never return to what they had been before._

Minerva felt a clump in her throat at the thought. If Palla had finally realized that Minerva only attracted pain and strife, and if she was happier at a distance, how could Minerva object to that? Although another part of her mind refused to listen; Palla’s tears of joy, what had they meant, if not shared bliss?

Whatever was going on, Minerva couldn’t leave it alone for much longer. At least she’d pass by Palla’s tent and say goodnight.

\---

She knew the tent’s location from the Whitewing’s recent tour of the camp under Maria’s guidance. It was a slightly lopsided thing with a band in green and gold around the central tent pole marking it as a property of Aurelis, standing by the edge of the camp; close enough to the stables that Minerva could hear Titania call out to her in greeting.  
To anyone paying attention, that would be more telling than Minerva raising her own voice, but she still gave the tent’s fabric an uncertain knock, and waited. She wasn’t going to barge into any other tents that evening.

The tent flap opened, and two tired eyes met Minerva’s.

“It’s me”, Minerva said as quickly as she could, before she could change her mind. “Hi. I just— I wanted to see if you were well.”

“Why, I am.”

Minerva could hear the lie beneath Palla’s untroubled tone; see it beneath the twitch of her brow. They stood silently for a moment, Palla’s eyes searching Minerva’s face.

“I’m sorry. It’s unbefitting of me to speak untruths.” Palla said it slowly, as if weighing each word in her mouth. “I might want to talk to you, actually. Can you spare the time to come inside?”

 _Of course_ , Minerva’s heart whispered without delay. _Of course I can._

The words got stuck in Minerva’s throat, but at least she could force her legs to move, and the tent flap fell behind her. She stepped inside with a careful look on Palla, but was immediately forced to look down as she tripped into a small evergreen sapling by the entrance, over which Palla had placed her armor. Minerva’s foot hit into the plates with a clang. She winced and bent down to correct it, Palla’s hands almost immediately beside hers with the same goal.

“Don’t worry”, Palla mumbled, and arose as soon as the pile of armor was somewhat in the right place. “I’ll put it in order later.”

Minerva scrambled to stand as well, brushed her hands off on her linen tunic and let her eyes run over the inside of the tent in an attempt to still the pulse in her throat.  
A small lantern illuminated the space around them. Its light cast shuddering shadows over the walls and made the static straws of hair dancing around Palla’s face shimmer like thin straws of grass in morning light.

They both stood quiet again, Minerva unsure where to begin as Palla wouldn’t look at her. The knight only fidgeted with her fingers for a few long seconds, before Palla inhaled deeply and finally spoke again.

“I’ve got my own tent.”

Not what Minerva had expected her to say, but it was... something.

“Yeah”, Minerva said, each syllable of the word dragged out. “I see that. Is it... Do you like it?”

“Suppose it has both good and bad sides”, Palla shrugged, her eyes set on her nails. Her throat was flushed and she pressed her lips together. The silence threatened to crawl over them again, and a part of Minerva seemed eager to convince her that it was better if the left, but she forced that thought aside and cleared her throat.

“Hey Palla, so, I know this with the League is new for you”, she began, and she dug her fingers into her palms. “I know it hurts not to have Est here with us, and I understand if you think these people – although nice – can be... overwhelming. I thought so too when I first was introduced like this, and if it could be of any help, I’d like to be here to support you through everything new. But you seem... You seem to be _wary_ of me. I will not bother you; if you’d rather have me leave, you need only say so once. But if there is anything I can do for you, I...”

Minerva trailed away at the sight of Palla’s frown and averted gaze. She was still fixated on her nails.

“Thank you”, Palla whispered. “I can give part of the answer right away; I don’t want you to leave. I’m sorry I’ve given you that idea – that was not my intention.”

“Then what was?”

Palla shook her head. Her eyes inched closer to Minerva, but stopped at her feet.

“I needed to piece myself together”, Palla answered, her dark brows furrowing at the base of her nose. “I hoped the noise in my heart would die down, and in some ways, it has. And by noise, I mean... Well. Minerva, you have to understand that seeing you again was the greatest blessing I could ever imagine. There was very little hope left inside me, and to have that impossible thought turn out true...” A smile twitched on Palla’s lips, but quickly died down. “Although in the midst of my joy, I feel an array of... I can’t place the feeling. Fear, I think.”

Palla paused and bit at her lip, and clutched her right hand over her chest.

“When Doluna’s net of darkness threatened to strangle us, I acted like a blanket of comfort for you – and you for me. You were the ship that kept me afloat.” Her voice had thickened, and it sent a shiver through Minerva’s heart – she couldn’t let go of the feeling that Palla’s pained expression was her fault.

“Do not take my words the wrong way, please, I...” Palla swallowed visibly and let out a small cough. “I don’t want to return to our days of suffering, but when I look around at all this; the League, Maria, everyone’s welcoming words, I realize... You don’t need me in the same way you did then.”

Her final words landed like a chunk of metal inside Minerva’s mind.

“I’ll always need you”, Minerva breathed. “Don’t say such things.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” Palla finally glanced up at her, and she gave her a weak smile. “I know I don’t make much sense. For many months now, I’ve kept telling myself not to think. I’ve shut out anything but rhyme and reason; it was the only way for me to be able to stand firm. Yet now... Now that I dare let light inside my thoughts again, I can no longer stop my mind from trailing away. Like I said, my heart is... Is noisy. When you are around me, it whispers to me; whispers things I have more sense than to hope for. It makes me... tired. That’s what I’ve been trying to keep in check, but it drains me all the more.”

Minerva tried to follow her words, but it still left her with questions that she feared to ask. Palla usually wasn’t vague, she always spoke her mind.

“What is it that you have more sense than to hope for?” Minerva wanted to bury the following question that encompassed all her fears, but it slipped out of her grasp without her being able to stop it, ”Does it have anything to do with something I’ve done?”

“It has to do with you, yes.“ Palla clasped her hands and pushed them against her forehead, clenching her eyes shut. “But it is no simple question, Minerva. I’m trying to—”

Palla shut her eyes harder, and drew a trembling breath.

“I have loved you dearly since the moment we met”, she said, her voice thickening with every word. She cleared her throat, and continued, “As a friend and knight I think of this with much joy. Although for the past six years, each time I awoke beside you, it dampened my spirits. What I felt each and every morning was that I never wanted to rise, I wanted to stay that close to you for eternity. All while my heart whispered to me the hopes I never dared to share with you, because I knew there wouldn’t come an opportunity to speak of it while we were so deep in Doluna’s mud. But it’s different now, it’s been different ever since the unbearable day they forced us apart, when I no longer got to hear your breath beside me, when I no longer got to see that way you sneeze in your sleep and wake yourself up, when I no longer could marvel at how you can stand so straight in a storm and how you spout poetry at the strangest times—“

Palla stopped and looked straight at Minerva. Her lips were slightly parted, the pulse visible in her throat.

“I love you so much”, Palla whispered. “My heart, it sings about you, about how it every second long for your eyes to meet mine, about my wish to fly close to you for the rest of my life. _That_ is what I hope for. The absence of you only amplified these dreams. And I’m not saying this because I love you, because you already know I do; but because I am in fact, _in_ love with you.”

Palla made a choking sound, as if she feared the sound of the last few words. Her mouth formed a thin line, and her temples tensed; but she kept her eyes locked with Minerva’s.

“That is what I can no longer keep from you.” Palla’s voice lowered into a whisper, although still clearly articulated, as if she spoke from the position of a knight. “My foremost priority will always be your safety and survival, but if hearing this makes you too uncomfortable, and you wish of me to keep my distance, I will. And if... If you wish for me to leave your service, I will. Just... Please say something before I drop dead from the tension.”

Minerva merely stared at her, not sure if she was blinking. Or breathing.

“Oh”, was all she could stutter.

Her heart thrummed in her ears, her cheeks burned as if a wall of hot air had hit her.

 

_Is that what it was?_

 

She thought of how different it was to see Palla’s flying shape come toward her, compared to everything else she’d felt.

When she’d heard Catria holler her name, Minerva’s mind had ignited into joy over the unexpected.

When she’d seen Maria come running toward her, free from all shackles and walls, Minerva’s entire being had been filled with relief, her mind dancing in an euphoria beyond words.

Seeing Palla smile at her again had however been something else. A surge in the pit of her stomach. A light in her heart. Not stronger than when she’d seen Maria – but different still.

“Oh.” Minerva’s mind was as if stuck, it was all the sound her tongue could think of forming.

_Did I hear correctly?_

She stomped the question down. No more doubt.

This was clear.  _So say something_ , she cursed at herself.

“I...”

What was there Minerva could possibly say? Her tongue felt like a clumsy brick, and her thoughts swirled in a sea of nonsensical sentences.

“Hearing you say it makes me, um, happy...” She almost trailed away at how dull her words sounded, but she gave her mind a sharp jab. She couldn’t stop speaking now, or she might never begin anew. “My whole life I have passed romance by, never understood how it possibly worked for so many, how natural it was to everyone. It never really has been to me.”

Palla’s eyes found the ground, stared into it. Her face was as pale as a sheet and Minerva nearly lost her trail of thought again.

“I have loved you as a friend”, Minerva continued hastily. “Very fiercely, I might add – yet perhaps it’s always been something, well, _different_ – I can no longer remember where one thing begins and the other ends, but I do know that when they separated us I felt like a piece of my heart was gone. The way I longed for you was not the same as the way I missed your sisters. Your absence was to me like the _world_ was missing you, like the air was empty without the possibility of your voice and laughter filling it. That’s... That could be me missing my most beloved friend, but – no, I don’t think it is.”

Minerva stroked her own cheek, a gentle attempt to reawaken the thunderstrike in her heart, and keep it there. Try to understand it.

“When you kissed me, it sort of... _tingled_." She let her fingers rest on her own cheek, and she could feel it, the surge of absolute joy that was unlike any other she'd ever felt. "I can’t explain it. That thought is very new to me, but... Ever since I’ve come to know you, I have not been able to bear the thought of your unhappiness. It matters so much to me that you are well, and I want to support you and be the one to protect your back just like you do mine. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m in love with you too. At least I think so. Must have been for quite a while. I just never... I couldn’t think about such things with all Doluna’s strings attached, but I... I must have been. I’m sorry, it’s so... new.”

Minerva finally quieted, but she did not feel satisfied with the silence. Palla’s eyes had at least found Minerva’s again, although the way she stared at her with her brow trembling, Minerva realized she couldn’t have understood much of what Minerva had said.

“You mean...?”

Minerva had babbled, and to her frustration, only more incoherent sentences formed inside her head trying to answer Palla’s question. Minerva put her hands over the bridge of her nose.

“I’m saying I must be in love with you.” Her voice sounded so strange, as if she spoke inside an echo chamber. “Gods— I’m saying I _am_ in love with you.”

Minerva’s sight blurred. She felt so open, vulnerable in a way she’d never been before. Palla carefully placed her hands on Minerva’s arms, her hands soft under her mittens. Minerva responded by resting her own hands against in the nicks of Palla’s elbows – an instinctive gesture, but never before had it felt so... Perfect.

“Truly?” Palla’s question wasn’t much more than a breath. Minerva looked deep into her face – a sight she knew so well, a sight that brought her home, that felt secure yet always inviting and exciting. Minerva had seen it change into every possible expression – from the youthful challenging smiles on castle sparring grounds to cold composure, to the soft confusion of the moment.

Minerva’s tears overflowed, warm against her cheeks and chin.

“Truly.” Her voice was all the more like an echo of her mind. “Although you spoke of fear, before; is it the same as mine? I’m... I finally know what it is I have felt for you, but now... what _changes_?”

The world was a smudge of flickering light. Beneath it all, Minerva thought she saw a smile.

“Minerva”, she heard Palla whisper. “I think, what would change has already done so.”

Minerva let go of Palla’s arms to wipe at her eyes. Her vision cleared, but her mind remained blurred. Palla was definitely smiling, even though the lantern light shimmered along her chin.

“I can’t answer how this will alter our lives”, Palla continued. “But I imagine we proceed in what way we’re comfortable in. I’m not sure what that would mean; I have not ever felt like this for anyone but you.”

Palla stepped closer and placed her hands on the front of Minerva’s shoulders instead, and Minerva slowly brushed with her fingers against the fabric of Palla’s sleeves.

“Nor I”, Minerva whispered, looking into her face. “There are so many things I have never thought about wishing for, I know nothing of how – or _if_ – I’ll be... enough.”  
The vulnerability she’d felt moments ago was nothing compared to what she felt now, her heart exposed.

“Oh, dearest Minerva.” Palla’s thumb brushed her cheek, drying off her tears. “I understand what you’re saying, but no matter what, know that I need nothing except the knowledge that your heart feels the same as mine. Never in my life do I want to make you uncomfortable, so do not fret for the future – you will always be enough for me.”

Palla was so close, her smile so wonderfully bright, all doubt that remained within Minerva dissipated. Minerva needed only move her arms around her back for her to have Palla enclose her, for Palla’s delighted laugh to turn into the air Minerva breathed.

Palla melted into the embrace, despite the hardness of the plackart and breastplate that Minerva still wore, and Minerva felt her own breath turn to laughter. When they stilled, Palla exhaled in a light sigh.

“I’ve really told you, then.” Palla turned her head to let her eyes search Minerva’s face. “I’m not dreaming, right?”

Minerva gave her a shaky smile in return. “You’re perfectly awake.”

“Yes... I must be. Were I dreaming you wouldn’t do something so clumsy as to trip over my armor stack.”

“Really, now?”

“It’s not a bad thing”, Palla smiled. “I haven’t seen you so unguarded for many years. It’s all the more like... Like coming home.”

Minerva felt Palla’s hand stroke her back, and a shiver of wellbeing travelled through her. She brushed with her own fingers along Palla’s shoulder, curious to explore how different they felt to her now.

“If only I could have been free to give us back Macedon as well”, she murmured. “Then I could have truly brought you home.”

“Minerva...” Palla placed her chin on Minerva’s shoulder again, her cheek touching Minerva’s. “That is not true. _You_ are my home, more than Macedon; my true house is the sky around you. If I can fly at your side, I need nothing else – I am where I wish to be.”

Minerva’s feet lost a little of their connection to the ground, as Palla lifted her up despite all her armor.

“Hey— Don’t break your back now—“ Minerva said in a sober moment, but Palla only laughed and hid her face inside the nape of Minerva’s neck. Her forehead clanked against the collar of Minerva’s breastplate.

“I’m just so happy, you wouldn’t believe.” Palla angled her head to align with Minerva’s, and their noses clanked into each other. They let out short, breathless laughs at the same time, then quieted in similar unison.

Minerva’s toes once again found solid ground. Palla had let go with one arm, and rested her gloved hand on Minerva’s shoulder, close to the nape of her neck. Not for the first time, but somehow, still overwhelmingly new. Minerva felt her blood rush under the touch, yet her mind seemed to hold its breath.

She longed to be closer, and that was all she knew. And she found that she did not want to return to what they’d been – she wanted to stay as they were.

Their kiss was brief.

Minerva could not tell which one of them had moved first. Both had stepped to test the unknown ground, and it was nothing like previous time Palla had planted her lips on Minerva’s cheek. That had been a desperate joy – this was like the brief tones of a musical instrument played with natural confidence; only one beat of Minerva’s pulse before it faded, yet it still moved like a ripple in the stillness of her mind.

They both leaned back, but they kept their arms around the curve of their backs. Minerva’s mind was both clear as day, yet far off as if dreaming. She explored Palla’s expression, regarded the smile that told her more than any words they’d spoken.

 

All around them was a mass of people, the madness of war. Yet inside that tent, the warmth of peace lingered in the air.  
And for the first time in a long time, Minerva truly dared to believe such peace could be a part of her reality.

“Can I be so bold”, Palla said with a teasing twinkle in her eye, “and say that I don’t actually like having a tent of my own.”

Minerva breathed a laugh and placed her forehead against Palla’s.

“Of all the dumb questions I’ve asked in my life”, she chuckled. Palla shook her head, still connected to Minerva’s.

“No, you care”, she whispered. “It’s good.”

“For the record, I don’t like having my own tent either.” Minerva held her gaze steady, with Palla’s face so close she could once again marvel at how complete it made her feel. Every twitch of her mouth, every sound of her breathing, so much like home.

“Could I stay with you, here?” Minerva whispered. “Like we used to?”

Palla’s eyes became covered by her eyelashes and tears as she smiled, but she still kept the mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“That depends”, she mused. “Is your tent larger than mine?”

The dam of stiffness that had accumulated around them had broken – Palla was back to the playful smiles she displayed only in front of her sisters and Minerva.

“I don’t think it is”, Minerva chuckled as she let her eyes measure out the ceiling. “But you’re neighbor with Draug’s tent. You know, the giant armor knight. He’s nice and all, but I heard from Lena that it’s like sleeping next to a lumber mill.”

Palla let go of her with a short laugh. “Oh, no, I’ve had enough of that. Catria had a cold a few weeks ago, gods be merciful.”

No longer in contact with Minerva, Palla froze on the floor and her gaze grew distant for a moment. Just hearing her refer to the past so casually was enough to have Minerva freeze a little in place as well. Palla quickly sobered, however; with a small twitch of her head, she bent down and collected her bed hides in her arms. She stepped toward Minerva, and before she had time to ask, Minerva gently lifted the burden from her.

“You don’t have to.” Palla’s protest was weakened by her smile. Minerva shook her head and took a firmer hold of the hides.

“I can carry your armor as well, if you let me.”

Palla answered with a light scoff as she wrapped her red shawl around her neck and collected the rest of her belongings. “What a sight that would be. Thank you, but I cannot accept that.”

Palla slipped past the tent flap with her armor and the lantern in her arms; Minerva right behind her. A soldier Minerva did not recognize passed them by with a raised brow, but they said nothing and continued their patrol with brisk steps.

“Should I just leave it?” Palla whispered, her eyes on the tent’s entrance. “Shouldn’t I pack it down?”

Minerva balanced the hides with one arm and extended her other hand toward Palla. She clasped her shoulder as softly as she could and smiled at her, even though Palla probably couldn’t see it in the darkness.

“Let it be for now”, Minerva said. “We’ll come for it at dawn tomorrow, and if anyone complains before then, refer them to me.”

To her relief, Minerva could see the shadow of a smile in Palla’s face when she turned her back to the tent. “I hope they would grumble less than the Macedonan army used to do.”

Minerva clasped her shoulder a bit tighter at that. “No one would take offense, I promise. I hope you’ll come to like these people as much as I have begun to.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

 

They met with only a few people in the darkness, most of them walking in pairs or groups, but there was one who walked by herself, who also happened to give them the widest smile.

“Hey”, Catria grinned at them, and all three of them stopped. Minerva noticed how Catria’s eyes seemed to shine, almost like she used to grin at Minerva or Palla before the war begun.

“Tis’ the best day o’ m’life”, Catria continued. Minerva and Palla waited in silence for her to say something else, but all Catria did to evaluate her statement was to let out a laugh.

“Yeh”, she snorted. “Tha’s it. Nothin’ else. G’night, you two!”

Without waiting for a response, Catria twirled along. Minerva could hear her hum the pirate song to herself before she disappeared behind the next row of tents. Minerva took a few uncertain steps forward with a careful glance at Palla to see if she followed. She did, her grin matching her sister’s.

“Oh Catria”, Palla giggled. “After all her work trying to cover her accent up. No wonder she’s ecstatic to use it again.”

Minerva smiled and adjusted the hides in her arms. She dared to throw a teasing eye at her, now that Palla already had broken through that dam.

“You’re free to let loose with _yours_ , should you want to.”

“Oh no”, Palla answered immediately, turning her face toward Minerva – she wished she could see exactly what expression Palla wore, but all she could see was the light reflecting off her teeth. “Not a chance. As Catria said to me once, ‘ _yer too_ high’n’mighty t’speak _like ordinary folks_ ’. She copied our father, I, on the other hand, looked up to my mother’s city speech. You know that.”

“Impression or no”, Minerva laughed quietly, “that was still perfect.”

“Ye teasin’ me, y’highness?” Minerva could distinguish how Palla stuck out her tongue at her. “It’s the last time you’ll hear me like this, I swear.”

They stopped in front of Minerva’s tent – or _their_ tent.  
_Theirs_.

Palla fumbled to put the lit lantern on the ground without dropping the armor she carried. Her hand shivered slightly as she let go of the lantern’s handle, and Minerva was once again struck by how thinner she was. She hated the sight, yet no real emotion took place behind it. She was filled with too much incomprehensible joy to be able to properly think of the past as real.

Palla was there like she always had. Her bedding furs beside Minerva’s once again, everything back as it was supposed to be, and more yet.

Palla let go of her heap of armor with a huff; not bothering with putting it in her usual neat pile, instead, she turned to face Minerva again. Palla still hadn’t braided her hair anew; it flowed wildly down her back, stuck out in all directions around her shawl. Her skin was freckled by familiar scars, nose slightly crooked. Her posture so proud. Her eyes attentive, radiant.

Had that not always flustered Minerva? How much had her heart spoken, that her mind had refused to understand? She felt so unsure what to do now, what to say. Maria had shared some stories she’d read that intended to teach flattering romantic prose, but it hadn’t held Minerva’s attention very well. She’d never thought of those stories as meant for her, and perhaps they weren’t. _Palla_ was what mattered, her smile despite the exhaustion revealing itself in her eyes – that smile spoke far louder than any possible words either of them could conjure. Still, there were thousands of things Minerva wished to voice, but at the moment, all she did was step a little bit closer.

She offered a hand – strange how it didn’t matter how many times she’d done so before, her heart still jumped when Palla took it. And again, Minerva noticed the new line along Palla’s jaw – a thin scar, similar to every other mark she bore from her close encounters with well-sharpened swords. Minerva took her free hand and carefully brushed a finger against it. Another reminder that was too cruel for Minerva’s heart to properly handle at such a time.

“Who gave you this?” She whispered so quietly, she could barely hear herself. She didn’t know what she wanted to hear – every answer would hurt just as much. _She hadn’t been there to stop it._

Palla gave her a crooked smile and hugged her hand, and in doing so she pulled Minerva a little closer.

“Someone who’ll spend the entire afterlife hating me”, she answered. “Which I surely deserve. It was a mere civilian, attempting to rally her village and overthrow the army that leeched off them. The Grustians wanted her dead, and we delivered. I should have gotten through it unscathed, but fighting under Doluna’s flag… it was never the same without you, without knowing if I’d ever cross your path again.”

Minerva lowered her hand, but Palla caught it, her smile free of sorrow.

“Do not look so troubled”, she said. “I don’t want you to blame yourself for what happened. This was Doluna’s work.”

“It still hurts”, Minerva whispered back. “I will never forgive them for what they’ve wrought.”

“Good.” Palla’s voice was firm, yet somehow it kept a soft edge. “Neither will I – but right now, I want no such thoughts. I’ve had enough of them for quite a while, and they don’t fit properly, not with… Not with my heart so full.” She hugged Minerva’s hand for emphasis, and her lips twitched. “I dare not go to sleep, Minerva. What if I wake within Grust, alone once again?”

Minerva had the same fear, but she did not voice it. Instead, she merely shook her head. “Don’t let those thoughts keep you. You need your rest, and I’ll be here. The whole time.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Palla let go and removed her shawl, hit it once in the air before laying it on top of her armor-pile and stretching her back. Minerva was still stiff inside the shell of her armor, while Palla looked so free with only her linen tunic; Minerva couldn’t remember the last time she’d longed to be rid of her own armor and be as free as Palla was. She removed Hauteclere and placed it near the bed and begun tugging at the straps over her armor hinges. Removing the breastplate was never easy, and Minerva’s shoulders still ached a little from her sitting on the ground during council.

“Would you like my assistance?” Palla had tilted her head, her smile unfaltering; Minerva could only nod and lower her hands, let Palla step closer. She found the buckles almost immediately, and released them, lifted the breastplate and plackart over Minerva’s head in the same movement, like she’d done a thousand times before. Minerva barely had enough time to breathe out in relief before Palla crouched down to remove one of the greaves covering her shins as well. Minerva bent down to remove the other with a weak protest.

“I could do those on my own, you know.”

Palla glanced at her from under her forelocks. “You could, but it’d be quicker if you’d let me.”

“That’s unfair, I can do it just fine—” Minerva tugged at the metal to remove it, but it remained in place, some strap still attaching it to her.

“Keep telling yourself that, my dear highness.” Palla reached for the last buckle on Minerva’s side, removed the final armor plate with nimble fingers and placed it beside the pile of Minerva’s armor.

Hearing Palla speak the title _highness_ caused Minerva’s knees to weaken. She’d gotten used to hearing it again from her new allies, but the way _Palla_ said it brought her back to untroubled, youthful days with sunshine in her heart – yet that was nothing close to how the word _dear_ made her feel.

“I’m a bit stiff is all”, Minerva said with a teasing poke on Palla’s shoulder. “My dear knight.”

Palla let out a silent chuckle, more like a quiet breath, and arose with Minerva’s hand in hers. “It wasn’t too early to call you that, was it?”

“Not at all”, Minerva grinned at her while she struggled to stand as well. “In fact, I’ll probably not want to be called anything else ever again.”

Palla nudged closer, tilted her head to the side. “Likewise. I’ll insist on repeating my oath and be dubbed into what you called me – and no other title will suffice.”

“Bit awkward for others to address you then, though.”

“It’d be worth it.” Palla grinned, her eyes half closed. If it was from comfort or sleepiness, Minerva couldn’t exactly tell. Probably a bit of both. Minerva wrapped her fingers closer around her hand, and lifted it with a slight curtsey.

“Well then, what does my esteemed dear knight say to some proper sleep?”

“Gods, Minerva”, Palla laughed and pulled her up, when Minerva angled her head to look at her, her cheeks were burning red. “You can’t curtsey to _me_.”

“Sorry, did it bother you?”

“No, of course not – it is not very _proper_ , though. Had the old instructor at the knight academy seen us, she’d have fainted on the spot.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Minerva brushed the back of Palla’s hand, and Palla scoffed another laugh.

“Ignoring that; as a belated answer to your question – I might need to rest a little.”

 _A little_. Palla kept displaying her bravest face, even when she looked more worn down than Minerva had ever seen her before.

Minerva let go, and in lack of anything else to say, she lay down on her bedding furs, and Palla followed. Minerva lay on her back with her head turned toward Palla, who lay down on her side. She moved unsurely, pulling at her duvet before she slowly wrapped it around herself all the way up to her nose. Minerva could sense her own uncertainty, but she brushed that thought aside and pushed past it.

“Welcome back.”

Palla’s eyes narrowed, probably smiling under the duvet. “Divines know I’ve missed this”, she whispered. “I’ve missed you. How surreal this is.”

Minerva merely smiled back, eyes focused on nothing but Palla’s gaze – and it surprised her to find a small frown begin to take place between her brows.

“Speaking of surreal”, Palla mumbled into her duvet, “ _Before_ , did we really...”

She trailed away, but Minerva was still certain of what she spoke of.

“Yes.” She frowned herself, turning her head further. “We did.”

Palla’s eyes shot to the ceiling, her cheeks once again reddening. “Did it make you uncomfortable at all?”

“Absolutely not. You?”

Palla shook her head, her eyes finding Minerva’s yet again. There was an exhaustion within them still, but the intensity of her gaze still ignited a gentle fire in Minerva’s mind.

“If you’d like... Could we try it again?”

Minerva’s mind drew for breath, waiting for the answer to form, even though she somehow knew it already – she merely needed the time to get accustomed to the thought, that it was even _possible_.

“I’d love to”, Minerva whispered back, but she didn’t move any more than her left hand, reaching out toward Palla’s face. She caught it, and brushed her lips against Minerva’s fingers before she carefully leaned over to her face, still with her fingers intertwined with Minerva’s.

This time, they were much more thoughtful. Palla still pulled away rather quickly, but she stayed close to Minerva’s face, eyes attentive and searching for any sign of discomfort.

Minerva did the same, but she could not keep her lips from smiling, even less so when the corners of Palla’s mouth twitched as well.

“This is how I’d like to tell you good night”, Palla whispered, her eyes tearing up. “I hope I’ll one day be able to stop weeping like a child out of joy, though.” She bent her head to dry her eye, and some of her hair fell down into Minerva’s face. “But perhaps that would take lots of practice.”

“I wouldn’t mind if that were the case.” Minerva stroked her shoulder, her heart skipping a beat to Palla’s delighted laugh.

“How’s this real?” She chuckled and brushed the hair back behind her ear. “Seriously, Minerva, _how_...”

Minerva adjusted her head under her arm. “I’ve stopped trying to make sense of the world”, she said. “All I know now is what is right in front of me – and that is most definitely real.”

Palla fidgeted to lay back down herself, while still holding on to Minerva’s hand. She placed herself close, their duvets overlapping. Minerva slowly placed her forehead against hers, listened to her deep, silent breaths.

“Sleep, now”, Minerva whispered to her. “And don’t hesitate to wake me whenever you need to.”

“Mm”, Palla hummed, but she did not close her eyes, would not let go of Minerva with her gaze. “Will you still be here in the morning?”

“Yes”, Minerva breathed, closing her eyes. “I will be. I promise.”


	53. Market Duty

Without the thick protection of greaves and sabatons, the soles of Minerva's feet were chilled by the ground beneath her leather boots. A kind of perception she'd half forgotten – she could feel every frosty straw of grass crackle under her steps. When was the last time she’d strolled into a town, free of her heavy armor plates? She felt light, feathery, almost – though perhaps the lack of armor was a meager part of that lightness; Palla walked beside her with her face wrinkled from squinting in the sunlight with the smile of a goddess. Few things could compare to seeing her there, whole, healthy – _happy_. Palla’s cheeks had regained some color over the last few weeks, her eyes were no longer dampened by hunger and she no longer wore double layers of furs – although she still seemed to be shivering a little; they’d walked for nearly an hour and Palla had gradually pulled herself closer. Minerva gave her a small grin and carefully swept part of her own cloak over Palla’s shoulders.

“It’s not that cold”, Palla chuckled at her, but she did not object. She pulled the cloak as tightly around herself as she could, her other arm around Minerva’s back. Together they formed a cocoon of warmth, its soft walls impenetrable by fear or pain.

The black spots in Minerva’s mind had shoved themselves into a far corner of her consciousness, although they still hissed that she couldn’t _be_ this happy. Thoughts pushed themselves into her mind, telling her that she was a fool, that her joy would be taken from her, that sharing such a bond would bring her pain – but it was surprisingly easy for Minerva to turn her back on them.

 

She wouldn’t let her fear ruin this new radiance in her life. She felt clumsy about it – all of it – even though she and Palla had hugged a thousand times before and they had lain side by side and whispered to each other almost every night for six long years, Minerva now stumbled over her goodnights and Palla might turn for an embrace just as Minerva might reach to play with her hair, ending in Minerva accidentally poking Palla in the ear.

They’d known each other’s limits before, subconsciously responded to each other like they always had, but now they’d begun to explore where the new limits ran. To Minerva, it felt reminiscent of their first months together, when they could suddenly stop in the middle of a sentence or awkwardly trip on each other’s words – although the awkwardness was _richer_ now, somehow. They had small laughs at shared unspoken jokes. They had the occasional careful pressing of lips. They had ten years of quiet love, a buried melody finally released – a new part of their life that turned flustered chuckles to something wonderful.

They both tried to maintain a level and polite image when they were within sight of their fellow knights, however – which turned out much more difficult than Minerva could imagine. The League had softened her. Her face now smiled rather than stiffened, she easily slipped into what felt natural – a gentle touch of shoulders, the locking of hands, a passerby kiss.

 

Maria had caught on quickly, and no wonder, perhaps.

When Minerva came to her tent to announce hers and Palla’s new beginning, Maria had bounced on her toes, her face unable to contain the smile within her. As Minerva told her, she clapped her hands together with a victorious yell.

“ _Yes_!” She then grasped Minerva’s hands, her face shining. “I could tell there was _something_! Is it like… _really_ -really?”

“Really-really?”

“I mean, you’ve decided to call yourself a couple and all that?”

Maria spoke a different language when it came to things like these. Minerva could only blink at her; she hadn't even mentioned the word ' _couple_ ' to Palla. Was it important what they called themselves? A discussion she decided to postpone.

“I don’t know", she answered. "I think we’re sort of… Well, it's—”

Maria squinted at her with a mischievous grin, interrupted her with a snickering; “Have you kissed her yet?”

Heat slammed onto Minerva's face, and her eyes immediately narrowed. “That’s a bit personal, don’t you think?”

“Ahhh”, Maria squealed in response and bounced in place, a reaction that only made Minerva blush further. “You _have_! Oh _divines_ , Minerva! I’m so happy for you!”

 

Like Maria, Catria noticed before Palla or Minerva told her. She walked into them in the early morning after the conquest of Gra, carrying three rabbits in her belt and a basket in her arms.

“Was huntin’”, Catria said as a greeting. “Talked to this Frey-fellow yesterday evening, and all we got in terms of flavor was beetroots. This kingdom doesn’t have much game, but I found these autumn seeds though. They’re edible, but a bit dry. Winter n’ all. Want some?”

Catria reached the basket toward them, but before Minerva or Palla had any time to examine the contents, Catria lowered it again, her brow furrowed. Minerva followed her gaze, and only then did she notice that she still held Palla’s hand, their fingers thoroughly intertwined. Catria looked up on Palla with narrow eyes.

“Y'all sorted some things out?” she asked. Minerva didn’t know what to answer, but Palla had nodded, her cheeks red. Catria only nodded back.

“Finally”, was all she had to say on the matter.

 

Other than those small encounters, very little changed in the way their fellow soldiers acted toward them – to Minerva's great relief, the League weren’t as much for gossip as the Macedonan army had been.

During the League’s march for Khadein, Caeda and Catria tended to fly beside each other in newfound fellowship, their conversations either through yelling and laughing or by sky knight signalling. Sometimes, one of them would turn around and signal – with the added incomprehensible yells – to Palla or Minerva, but they still kept their distance as the formation required. So Minerva and Palla were alone for the most part, sailing side by side.

Minerva could never get enough of the sight of Palla with the wind in her hair and a gentle, dreaming smile. She missed the simplicity of leading a unit of all fliers, she missed being able to fly until sunset without having to think about tents and firewood and food for thousands upon thousands – the main reason being that her flights alongside Palla were far too short for her liking. Half a day’s marches, with Palla beside her; then half a day of setting up camp, at which Minerva and Palla were more often than not separated by different tasks.

Minerva didn’t exactly mind, she could handle being apart from Palla just fine when she knew it wasn’t for long – but when she’d gotten the chance to walk into an Aurelian town with Palla as her company, she was not about to say no.

\---

They stopped to rest by the first house in the town. A bench was placed along the southern wall; its wood groaned a little when they sat down, but it held firm for both of them. Minerva carefully leaned her head on Palla’s shoulder, and Palla rested her cheek against her head in return. It was a busy time for the townspeople walking past them, but they still had time to throw more than a few curious gazes their way – the people had no doubt learned of the League setting up camp only a few miles away from their town, and of course they wanted a look at the liberation soldiers. Stories were already sung of Marth's fearless retaking of Archanea, and no doubt were more being composed after their recent conquest of Gra.

Minerva gave each curious civilian a polite smile, but she made sure to not look any of them in the eye for too long. As far as she knew, her stance as the traitor princess was known among most people, but she still didn't want to meet any friendly stranger with the glaring red eyes of Iote. She wanted to be free from civilian gazes that still saw the crown of the Crimson Dragoon on her head – she always did, but this day especially she wished not to invite them. She wanted this stillness to last.

“Really though”, she heard Palla hum from beside her. “I never thought I’d be this excited for market duty.”

Minerva laughed – the sound came so naturally to her now, she wasn’t sure if it would ever stop bubbling right beneath her surface. Palla’s voice brought such a surge of joy with it, and Minerva hoped that she’d never get used to it.

“Caeda was unusually easily convinced to let us go”, Minerva mused. “She and Darros are usually the ones doing these things. From what I hear, the two of them make for a monster to bargain with.”

Palla straightened, and Minerva’s cloak fell off her right shoulder.

“Est used to be good at bargaining too”, she said, half to herself.

Minerva gave her a crooked smile, and pulled the cloak back up over her shoulders. “We’d better set an example for Est to try to beat when she returns, then.”

“She could try.” Palla smiled, although it did not reach her eyes. Minerva searched for her hand, gave it a firm hug.

Palla let out a small chuckle and tilted her head, looking up at the lone clouds in the sky.

“We should get going”, she said, although she did not try to stand up. “We needn’t rest for so long – I’m back to full strength, you know.”

“I know, though why not take the chance to be lazy for once?” Minerva grinned at her, and Palla pushed her shoulder lightly into Minerva's.

“Lazy? Some princess general you are.”

 _Princess_. Minerva’s spirits dulled slightly at that, but she still smiled and pulled at the collar of her tunic.

“I'm not much of a royal in these clothes, am I?”

An invite to revive their discussion from the same morning, something Palla only answered with a quiet laugh. "I stand by that it's better to give the townspeople two friendly faces rather than high ranking officers in full Macedonan attire, my dear highness."

"And that argument is sound indeed, especially as my counterpoint hasn't turned out to be relevant as of yet."

"Thankfully not."

Minerva had argued that there was plenty of spaces Doluna’s faithful could lurk in one of Aurelis’ largest towns, and she felt bare without the armor that had supported and protected her for more than half of her lifetime. Catria’s light chainmail felt almost as protective as a thin sheet of silk to Minerva, and she'd lie if she said she felt at home in her tunic that displayed Archanea's colors. At least Minerva had Hauteclere in place under her brown cape – she was far from defenseless, but still not entirely comfortable.

Palla nudged her again and gave her a teasing smile.

“You should know you look quite charming", she said. "And not too threatening, at least not for as long as you don’t look down on any poor townsfolk like you’ll bash them into the ground if they don’t move away quickly enough.”

“Have I ever?”

"Most of the time, dear."

"Oh? But I'd never hurt anyone for such a petty reason!"

“Of course not, but _they_ don’t know that”, Palla grinned at her and stroked her cheek with the back of her fingers. She pulled back quickly, but Minerva still felt the touch on her skin. She smiled back at her and breathed out in a low scoff. She felt for the purse in her belt, and weighed it in her hand. They'd lingered for long enough. There were plenty of duties awaiting them back in the camp.

She glanced up at Palla from under her eyelids. “Time to go, isn’t it?”

“Mm.” Palla closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. “How I wish we could just sit here and be lazy, just like you said. It's something I’m pretty bad at, though. Perhaps I could learn the art once all this is over.”

“I’m not too good at it either”, Minerva said as she pushed herself off the bench and reached out a hand to pull Palla to her feet. “But I’d love to learn with you.”

 _Once this is all over_.  
The sun shone bright, the sharp edges inside Minerva softened into faded lines; she no longer wrought the pain of Michalis’ rule, and Palla’s warmth was always close and Minerva finally had the chance to lead her to a better life than what they'd known – but nothing was _over_. Outside the town walls and the League’s camp, Doluna and Grust still lay low, waiting for their time to strike. The war held its breath, but once it let out its cries of battle and blood again, this softness couldn’t last.  
But it was there now, and Minerva wouldn’t let go of it just because she feared to lose it.

She brushed the back of Palla’s hand with her thumb.

“Let’s go see if they have even half of what Marth wanted”, she said.

“Twenty live goats”, Palla listed with a grin. “Two new workhorses. And not to forget those endless crates of dried meats and flour. When did that Roshea say he’d arrive with the cart, again?”

Minerva shielded her eyes from the sun and looked up into the sky. “An hour after midday”, she answered. “We’ve got four hours to go.”

Palla corrected her collar and lifted her chin. “Well then, my dear highness. Let’s make it count.”

\---

The last carriage of supplies left for the League when the sun still stroked the town’s southern wall. Roshea had offered Minerva and Palla to ride the cart back to the camp, but they’d both politely refused. If there was a chance for Minerva to delay any temporary separation by camp duties, she’d seize it. And Palla was clearly of the same mind.

 

They walked along the wall to the western side, following the rays of the sun as it moved behind the top of Aurelis’ mountains. Simply breathing, biding their time. Under the shadow of the town wall, Palla pressed a careful kiss on Minerva’s temple, and Minerva felt warmth shoot through her like a crack of lightning. The urge to swipe her up in her arms was so strong, but the uncertainty within her turned it into a clumsy hug where her nose nudged into her chin, but they both only laughed. They remained tangled with each other in the chilly air, their embrace enough to warm them for a time; but as the sun hid further behind the mountain the cold crept in through Minerva’s boots and she felt a shudder travel through Palla. She'd borrowed her cloak from Lena, a thin fabric much too short for one of Palla's stature.

“We should return”, Minerva murmured, and Palla hummed into her hair. Her voice was low the way it turned when she was close to falling asleep.

They untangled from their embrace and slowly begun their walk back along the wall, although not too far from the bench that had been their resting place Minerva caught another familiar face hiding under the shadow of stone towers.

Minerva wouldn’t have recognized him if it weren’t for the days away from her Aurelian conquest – a memory that had blurred from all other recent events, but was still clear enough to spot how this man differed from the civilians inhabiting the town.

Minerva exchanged a quick look with Palla, who only tilted her chin in response. Minerva stepped forward.

“Prince Hardin?”

The man before her pulled his cloak tighter around him at the sound of her voice, but he looked up to face her. He wore a simple garb, just like the one he'd worn when he'd been Minerva's temporary ally and respite from her mission to claim this very land.

“Ah”, Hardin greeted them. “Princess Minerva. Dame Palla. Do not mind me, if you please.”

Minerva heard the request in his voice, but elected to ignore it. She glanced around, but there was no one close by but them and a guard patrolling the watchtower high above.

“Where are your paladins, your highness?”

To Minerva’s surprise, prince Hardin had a smile playing on his lips.

“I wanted to give them some free time”, he answered, his voice somehow both heavy and carefree. “I’m willing to believe I can defend my life good enough on my own when I am among my kinsmen. Perhaps for selfish reasons as well; it is not often I get to be on my own.”

Minerva needed no other hint, and she was about to back away and leave him be, but he began speaking before she had time to take the first step.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Hardin’s eyes were set on the northwestern mountains, where the sun played around the tips like a golden halo. “My kingdom.”

The words got stuck in Minerva’s throat, but thankfully, Palla was able to respond. “It certainly is, your highness.”

Hardin smiled wider, he even let out a small chuckle.

“You two were on market duty”, he stated with gentle amusement in his voice. “You must have seen my people, as I did.” The prince sighed, his gaze still set on the mountains.

“My people... They still haven’t forgotten that they’d almost bled dry, but the way I got to see them today... I saw them smile, celebrate the harvest, chat among each other with calm... That sight alone is worth all my strife.”

The slivers of light within Minerva immediately dimmed into a misty darkness, and she had to draw a sharp breath to stay with her gaze focused on Hardin.

Her mind played her images of Aurelian knights that pleaded to her before her axe struck them down, of villages that were caught in the crossfire no matter how much Minerva wanted to avoid it, of the cries of fear from the civilians that were crushed by Macedonan sky knights too busy to tell the difference between soldier and non-combatants.

Minerva had served the entirety of Aurelis on a platter for Doluna. There'd been nothing left of them except for prince Hardin and his small band of knights.

Minerva felt a tug on her side, as Palla carefully hooked her arm into Minerva’s. The touch managed to pull her away from the darkest corners, but the images still played before her the things her mind would never let her forget.

“Hardin.” Minerva strained herself so her voice would betray no trace of the distress within her. “Your people... I’m relieved that they seem to be recovering, but with the kind of suffering I wrought them... It is perhaps not my place to be happy for their sake. I am so sorry for what I did to you and your kingdom.”

She waited for Hardin's glare and his ‘ _now leave me be, Macedonans_ ’, but instead she was met by another one of Hardin’s smiles. The crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes told of his many smiling days, derived from gentler times.

“My friend”, Hardin said and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Nothing can undo the past. We may grieve for the losses, but we may also rejoice for what has been regained. It would bring me honest joy to see you happy for my people’s sake, and I do speak this truly. Had your brother been of a different cloth, you would have been reclaiming my kingdom at my side. Of this I am sure.”

Minerva only swallowed and nodded. “Thank you, your highness.”

Hardin patted her shoulder and gave a toothy smile. “You called me Hardin before, and you may continue to do so, princess. Let us speak of the past no more. Let us hope the future holds something greater for us.”

He quieted for a moment, before he looked to Palla. “Dame knight”, he said in a quieter voice. “Are you certain you and your fellow Pegasus knights can bring a challenge to the impenetrable borders of Khadein?”

Minerva’s eyes shot to Palla, new fear clawing into her heart. Palla’s face was restrained – she was visibly tired, but she still gave a confident nod.

“As certain as can be, your highness", she said. "My sister and I will make sure we have the crossing safe for you, and I am sure her highness Caeda has the same intention.”

Minerva’s pulse intensified. She didn’t want to think about the future battles, didn’t want to wrestle the fear.

“May the gods bless your path as you do”, Hardin nodded back. “It is a shame I have to leave my kingdom to enter the cursed Khadein, but be that as it may. I have faith in you. Let’s not speak too much about sullen matters. I assume the two of you were going back to the camp?”

“We were.”

“Don’t let me hold you here, then.” Hardin dipped his brow with his smile still displayed, but there was a glint of sorrow in his eyes. “Should Nyna ask for me... Tell her where to find me. I think she’d like to see this town. Her mother had her origin in these borderlands.”

 _Then why didn’t you ask her to come yourself?_ Minerva quietly wondered, but she said nothing. Hardin’s forgiveness and gentle smile had hunted away Minerva’s images of guilt, but the feeling of uneasiness remained. She did not want to upset him.

“Should we cross paths with her Excellency, we most certainly will inform her”, Minerva said as her farewell, and they parted ways.

 

Palla walked in silence beside her. Minerva still felt the chill under the soles of her boots; it had begun to make her steps hurt, but she did not feel much of it.

They were closing in on Khadein.

She couldn’t keep this calm inside her forever, the fear had to return.

She tightened her grip on Palla’s hand, clenched her jaw.

“Minerva.” Palla brushed her thumb over her fingers, and Minerva met her gaze. “You’re tense.”

Minerva merely hummed. “We have a lot to lose”, she finally whispered. “It’s that... I fear I might lose _you_. The world has never been kind to us, and if this war caused us to part forever... How could I not fear it?”

Palla looked away, her jaws tense as well. “We’re soldiers, Minerva. These are the thoughts we’ve always faced.”

“It’s a bit different now, though.”

“Yes. It is.” Palla moved her gaze back to Minerva, watched her thoughtfully. “But we can’t let it be, not with this. We have to fight, we have to remain fearless. Even if the thought of _you_ coming to harm is—“ Her voice trembled, and she moved to lock her arm tighter into Minerva’s. “I too am afraid, Minerva; but I am ready to lay down my life for this cause, for the justice we’ve been forced away from. It is the least we could do to honor the people we’ve wrongfully slain. And if by any chance your name may be cleared in the world of tomorrow, I’ve got all the more reason to stand by this fight.”

“My name will never be cleared until Michalis' throne is broken.” Minerva closed her eyes. The sun was setting behind the mountain peaks; it’s rays like cold fingers fanning out without reaching down on the road, the wind in their faces like ice on Minerva’s cheeks.

She felt Palla’s arm hug hers, her voice like a whisper. “Then so we shall break it.”


	54. Sandstorm Wall

Khadein’s border was visible from miles away. Unlike most other kingdoms, it wasn’t defined by wooden barricades, stone walls or guards patrolling the roads; what gave it away was the unnatural dance of sand, like thin slices of a desert storm drawn along the line of the border.

There was no wind on Minerva’s cheeks, and she could tell all the way from the sky that the sand on the ground was damp from winter rain. Not even Titania’s mighty wings could whip up a single grain. Minerva narrowed her eyes and she angled Titania for a landing. With a few running steps, Titania came to a stop. Some of the sand sprayed up around her feet, but not much more than regular soil. In such conditions, the sand really shouldn’t be blowing around in the air – yet there it was in front of Minerva, disobeying every known law of the world.

Minerva remained mounted, one arm around Maria in the cranny of the saddle front. The two Pegasus sisters galloped down on the ground behind Minerva and trotted to a stop beside her, a good distance from the unnatural wall.

“Oh, yikes”, Catria gaped, her neck and back arched to find the sandstorm wall’s highest point, before she straightened to look toward Minerva and Maria.

“So... Land of magic – and _not_ land of magic.” Catria moved the tip of her lance as she spoke, pointing toward the wall of storming sand at first, then toward the ground at her Pegasus’ feet.

“Well, yeah”, Minerva answered her. “Not that we’re completely safe on this side of the storm, but we’re safer outside the border for now.”

“We haven’t been completely safe in a long while.” Palla shifted in her saddle on the other side of Minerva, her eyes following the wall into the sky just like Catria’s had. Unlike her sister, Palla kept her jaws tightly clenched and her face twisted into a frown. Perhaps she fought to quench an uneasiness equal to Minerva’s own.

 

Maria was the only one not throwing any wary glances; she swung her legs excitedly, and shifted as if she was thinking about slipping off Titania’s saddle but couldn’t decide on which side was the fastest.

“This is _so_ fascinating”, she breathed. “I can really _feel_ the surge in magic just by being here! I mean, look at _this_!”

Maria extended a hand and Minerva tilted her head to look, her eyes narrowing at the sudden light prickling at them. Maria’s fingertips shone, as if her skin was a new kind of star, brought from the skies down to walk among the mortals.

“If this is where Merric learned to use magic”, Maria continued, “It’s no wonder he tends to overexert himself. This feeling is amazing, like the limits of magic I’ve learned all my life no longer apply. Hey, Minerva, let me down! I’ve _got_ to know what the ground feels like!”

Minerva helped her down, though Maria was halfway out of the saddle already. She gravitated toward the soil and knelt on the ground, drawing her hands through the sand with fascinated whispers.

“I feel no different.” Catria rode closer and rested the butt of her lance on the ground. “Bummer. I’m really not very magical, then.”

She smiled down at Maria, although her smile quickly shifted to a neutral expression as her gaze switched focus to something distant.

“Oh, right on time”, Catria said. “Here’s the company.”

Minerva followed Catria’s gaze, squinted at the four figures taking shape in front of the dust cloud around the sandstorm-wall. Three of the figures wore mage’s garbs, and one carried Marth’s unmistakable circlet resting on its head.

 

Maria, her former focus fully on the sand, arose with a handful of damp grains still in her hand and waved to the four figures closing in on them. Minerva could feel her Earth magic extend far – it lay over Minerva like multiple layers of blankets, it was in the air she breathed, it was so palpable she could almost _see_ it; though perhaps the visible parts were something else entirely. The light around Maria’s fingertips had spread over her skin – her entire being was enclosed in a fluctuating, warm glow. It might have been a strange sight, but how could it be? Minerva had always seen the brilliance within Maria; now it merely took shape for all to recognize.

“Lena!” Maria cried in greeting, as soon as she was close enough. “Leeena! Look at this! I feel the ties to the light, and I don’t even need to _focus_!”

Lena stopped a wyvern’s length away from Minerva’s squad and with a nod of respect at Minerva, she turned to Maria.

“Your Highness.” Lena carried the same gentle smile as always, but there was a hint of a scolding in her voice. “‘ _Not needing to focus_ ’ isn’t a good thing. You should always stay vigilant. You know light magic is no game.”

“Yeah!” Maria beamed a smile at her and doused the light around her. “I just said I had no need for it – not that I didn’t _do_ it.”

Lena tilted her head to the side, her eyes half closed in quiet laughter. “I’d be a fool to doubt you, young pupil.”

During their conversation, Palla had scrambled around in her saddlebags, piling scrolls and tomes in her lap before she too turned her full attention to the newcomers.

“Linde, here are the items you requested back from the main camp.”

The mage stepped toward Palla with her arms extended, displaying a grateful smile.

“Oh yeah, I should unload my stuff as well”, Catria murmured from beside Minerva. She dismounted with a huff and pulled knots and straps loose from her cargo.

 

Minerva stayed in the saddle. Her cargo couldn’t be carried easily by just a few people; Titania carried the parts of an entire tent and two kegs of water. Titania didn’t appreciate being a pack mule, but the workhorses’ hooves only sank down in the desert sand. A flying mount could do so much better – as was the case for most things.

The cargo was from the League’s main camp, a few miles east of the border. Marth feared for the non-magical soldiers’ safety so close to Khadein. He didn’t want more people than necessary near the odd sandstorm, so he restricted the border camp for the frontrunners; the magicians and Pegasus knights. For the time being, Minerva was needed, but not for much longer. There was a small number of League soldiers there to help the frontrunners set everything in place, soldiers meant to leave for the main camp by the day’s end, just like Minerva was.

Minerva didn’t mind sleeping a few miles away from a possible magical surprise attack, but she didn’t like the idea of separating from her Whitewings in such a dramatic manner.

The League’s mages expected enemy assaults and magic traps of morbidly creative origins on the other side of the sand wall – and that was the very reason Marth delayed. If they didn’t take the time to study any possible dangers, just one misstep could be enough to cost them victory.

The set up of the frontrunner camp had only just begun. Marth expected to begin the invasion in a week.

 _A week_.

Minerva tugged at Titania’s reins, turning her around. She shouldn’t linger. There were quite a lot of trips back and forth the main camp to be done yet. Though before she turned her back, she cast a glance on Merric. The young mage was tense, much tenser than he’d been during his first flight; he tugged at his sleeves and pulled at his gown, never quite looking any of them in the eye. Not even Marth.

“Merric”, Minerva overheard Marth’s voice, “If you want to stay behind in these upcoming battles, I’d understand. We will face your friends, your teachers…”

Merric held up a hand and shook his head once.

“I know you need me, Marth”, was his answer.

\---

To Minerva’s relief, Palla insisted to stay the night back with Minerva in the main camp. It was one less stone on her heart, yet despite that, her mind remained heavy as she assembled the tents for her friends. She counted moments, couldn’t stop herself from doing so. Each heartbeat brought her closer to the inevitable, as the cold desert night slid its darkness over their heads.

Maria would sleep on her own, miles apart from Minerva’s reach. The thought was uncomfortable, but not frightening.

_She’ll only be a few minutes away by sky. All will be fine. She has Catria close by, too. Lena, Linde, Merric, they won’t go down easy. All will be fine._

She tightened the last of the supports on Linde’s tent and looked over to where Palla was straightening the tent flap.

Minerva leaned over the side of the tent with a careful glance at Palla. Minerva’s former euphoria had slowly been pulled away from her senses by the ever-present war, but the sight of Palla meeting her gaze with a quiet teasing glow in her eye was enough to send sparks of heat inside Minerva’s chest.

“Something on your mind?”

Minerva couldn’t stop her cheeks from glowing. “You’re certain you don’t want an extra hour of sleep?”

Palla let go of the tent flap with a quiet laugh. “Oh, no. I don’t care if I’d have had to take five-hour trips every morning; if it means I can share my night with you, I’d do that and more. A few minutes on my Pegasus each morning won’t keep me away, dear highness.”

Minerva couldn’t argue with that, even if she’d wanted to.

 

When Minerva and Palla were getting ready to leave, the darkness lay thick around them. The desert sky was a gaping hole in the fabric of reality, a starless void. The only thing that brought some light into the sky was the main camp in the east, and a few lanterns along the tents of the frontrunner camp. Minerva was busy with fumbling around Titania’s cargo straps when another light entered from the edges of her vision. She turned her head, and was met by Maria walking toward them with stark blue lightning crawling around her hands, small sparks that ignited the air around her.

Maria didn’t look up, she kept her eyes on her hands with her brow furrowed.

“Are you all right?” Minerva put down the barrel she was about to hoist over to Palla, stepping toward Maria instead.

“Yeah”, Maria called back, still not looking up. “I just wanted to say goodnight before you left.”

Palla hopped down beside Minerva, joined her careful walk closer.

“Better to not come much nearer”, Maria smiled up at them, diverting her gaze from the lightning around her fingers. Just as her eyes let go, the lightning died down – with a quiet ‘ _oops_ ’ from Maria.

Minerva should be used to Maria experimenting with her magic – she’d done so every day since she’d been a toddler – but the sight of lightning crawling over Maria's skin was a bit too absurd for her.

“Would you care to explain, um, _that_?” Minerva wasn’t sure if her small wave in Maria’s direction was even visible in the darkness, but Maria seemed to understand what she meant.

“Yes, sorry, it— Well, I just managed to finally convert light magic today, and Lena ushered me to practice for as long as I could, to get used to it. What you saw was light magic, turned into a destructive Nature form.”

Once again, Maria’s hand’s lit up with sparks, and her smile was an odd blend of fear and delight. “Apparently, my light magic instinctively takes the shape of lightning. Lena’s took the form of fire, as I’m sure you remember. Although Lena has learned to produce small blizzards now, too. I should be able to adapt it to different forms as well, but for now...”

She closed her fists, and the sparks died down once again. She looked up at them both, and smiled wider.

“You’re not just a healer, anymore”, Palla said as she tilted her head.

“I suppose not. I just hope this’ll earn my place with the frontrunners.”

“I think you earned that place a long time ago”, Minerva smiled, ignoring the unsteadiness under her feet from the thought.

Maria only chuckled. “Thanks, sister. Well, I shouldn’t hold you here. Goodnight.”

Maria lifted her arms, carefully, as if checking that her lightning was truly gone, before she closed the distance between them and embraced them both. Minerva crouched down and rested her cheek against Maria’s ear.

“Goodnight then”, she whispered. “Little lightning.”

Maria giggled and shook her head best she could in Minerva’s embrace. “Oh, no, I won’t answer to that. To you, I’m ‘ _little candle_ ’, and nothing else.”

\---

On the day of the border breach, the Khadein sky was an infinite white above the heads of the League soldiers, lined up in square formation along the unnatural sandstorm.

 

The formation was merely there to prepare to invade as soon as the coast was clear. The soldiers stood ready with the whole camp on the backs of their mounts, wagons filled to the brim with water and food provisions.

The sounds of thousands of mumbling soldiers were deafening to Minerva, all of it too audible where she stood by the front. She followed the frontrunners with her gaze as Merric made an entrance through the wild whipping sand, where the magicians quickly ran through.

The pegasi were to break the barrier on their own; the wall was apparently not very thick - at least not according to Linde’s findings. All that was needed was one knight to take the role of a battering ram, something Palla had volunteered for without hesitation.

Minerva lifted her gaze to the heavens.

Palla hovered high, nearly invisible beneath the white sky, and in the next moment, she charged right through, Caeda and Catria right behind her.  
The sound as Palla punched through the storm came like a blow to Minerva’s belly, and she cramped her fists together.

Gone. All of them gone.

Minerva couldn’t stay still. She paced back and forth, adjusted the baggage on her back again and again, stomped on the ground, tried to breathe.  
They’d do fine – pegasi could withstand many magic assaults, and so could Maria, and Linde had spent an entire week plotting every magic trap they could possibly have to face – _they’d do fine_.

Why couldn’t she simply rest easy, knowing that?

“Princess Minerva”, she heard from beside her. A sideward glance confirmed the speaker as prince Hardin. He carried a heavy baggage similar to Minerva’s on his back, lance in his hand. “Perhaps it is wise to save your energy? To stay still and wait for our signal?”

Minerva shut her eyes, shook her head. She wanted to tell him to go away, she couldn’t think with her heart so far up her throat.

“I can’t.”

She felt a careful hand on her shoulder, and she stopped pacing, dug her gaze into Hardin’s. Her first urge was to knock Hardin out cold; he dared to stand beside her, speak to her – he dared to bother her. That urge died down as quickly as it came, a deep sorrow taking its place. She relaxed her gaze, but did not look away.

“Hardin, leave me be. You can’t change this any more than I can.”

“Indeed I cannot, but I’m willing to listen, should you wish to speak to me. Would it ease your mind to do so?”

Minerva breathed through her teeth. She hated that tone in his voice, she hated that he saw her so helpless – she couldn’t wish for the corpselike stoicism of her Dragoon facade to return, but she didn’t want this fear, didn’t want him to see it. She didn’t mind showing him her sorrow for his people’s sake, but she hated the way her hands trembled. More often than not, her pride was one of the only things she could rely on; her pride, and _Palla_ , Catria, Maria, all of them on the other side of that wall—

“I don’t know”, she answered Hardin.

She glanced up at the sandstorm wall, and it tugged at her soul in how she at every moment expected it to die down and show Palla’s shape behind it, unharmed and smiling. For each second that the wish did not come true, her pain only intensified. How much time had actually passed? Four hours? One? She’d grow mad from this.

“I’m not meant for waiting”, she finally whispered. “I think I prefer injury at the front lines to this kind of silent, invisible agony.”

“Do you doubt your friends?”

“Don’t be a fool”, she hissed at him. “I’ve seen my knights kill mages before. Khadein doesn’t stand a chance.” She’d been so quick to defend them, she felt a tad bit more confident for the Whitewing’s sake. Although the uneasiness returned, like a slow poison spreading within her chest.

Minerva looked away. “But now I’m not with them, and there are too many uncertainties for me to look past. What if some of the mages are skilled archers? What if Gharnef appears behind their backs? What if a trap catches them unawares?”

In the corner of her eye, Minerva saw Hardin nod. “Your concern is only natural, I’d say. I understand, though I’ve been lucky to have my—“

The sandstorm in front of them ended abruptly. That was the signal.

Minerva moved without knowing. She didn’t listen to the rest of what Hardin said – if he even had continued to speak.

 

The opening in the storm was a wide arc, an unnatural break like the one the League’s magicians had created to slip past, although so much larger. The wheezing winds quieted down, the silence that replaced it felt sticky and odd to Minerva. She’d grown so used to the sound of the storm. Now the steady thrum of thousands of feet replaced it, the entire League running away from the familiar non-magic lands, to enter the enchanted desert of Khadein.

Perhaps they were mad to do this, though right then, Minerva really didn’t care. She pressed on, half jogging despite the heavy weight on her back and Titania’s reins in her hand.

It didn’t really occur to her until she’d jogged almost half a mile how rude she’d been, leaving Hardin without a word or a glance. Of course, the order _had been_ to start moving as soon as the sandstorm was ended, but to do so without a look in Hardin’s direction... Minerva wasn’t a child – she was a general, a princess. One that had shown disrespect to a friend and ally, an ally she dearly wished to patch up the horrors of the past with. The thought made her flush angrily, but she couldn’t think much further on it. Her eyes searched the sky.

 _Later_ , she told herself. _I’ll apologize to Hardin, later._

That thought buried itself as soon as Minerva spotted three birdlike shapes in the sky, circling over a small fortress.

She ran. Titania’s mighty steps made the compact sand quiver beneath them, threatening to throw Minerva off balance. It was a wonder that she didn’t trip; her eyes were in the sky, following one of the shapes as it sailed down toward her. Its movement so effortless as the Pegasus trotted elegantly down before her. Palla dismounted with a calm smile at Minerva, a silent and loving ‘ _Hello, dear_ ’. There wasn’t a scratch on her arms; the only trace of battle was blood staining the fabric of her tunic.

 

Minerva didn’t care how many people were around and behind her – she took the final steps toward Palla, and caught her in her arms.

“By the gods”, she wheezed into Palla’s shoulder. “I love you.”

Palla only laughed, the sound muffled into Minerva’s hair.

There was a thud from beside them, and Minerva arched her neck to look up without moving away from Palla’s neck.

Catria had landed alongside them, and she gave Minerva a quiet smile. Her eyes were filled with the solemn glow from a victory, but her smile was true.

“Well”, she said. “The mages here are _good_ , though we’re obviously better. Welcome to the land of magic, Commander.”


	55. Older Sister's Burden

Minerva awoke with the duvet flung over the side of the bed, the skin on her arms prickled from the cold air. She shuddered and blinked into the night, reached out with her hand to find Palla’s familiar shape, but the place beside her was empty.

“Palla?”

Minerva reached for Hauteclere in the same motion as she hoisted herself to sitting. She found the handle and pulled the axe over her knees while scrying the darkness. Minerva was still a bit lightheaded from sleep, but her grip on Hauteclere was steadfast. A tall shadow stretched over the tent’s opening. Minerva tensed, but didn’t pounce – the chances that the shadow was an enemy was significantly smaller than the risk of it belonging to a friend.

“Palla? Is that you?”

The tent flap moved. A small sliver of light was let in from a lantern outside the opening, and Minerva immediately recognized Palla’s face peeking in. Her eyes trembled when they met with Minerva’s.

“It’s me.”

“Is something amiss?” Minerva’s muscles remained tense as she spoke. “Are we being attacked?”

Palla only shook her head, averting her gaze to the ground. Minerva let go of Hauteclere, placed it beside the bed hides before she crawled up to standing. She pulled the duvet with her, slung it over her shoulders.

“I’m sorry”, Palla whispered as Minerva joined her side. Minerva only smiled at her and offered to place a duvet-covered arm over Palla’s shoulders.

“Aren’t you freezing?”

Palla didn’t answer, but she slipped into the offered arm so that Minerva could close the duvet around both of them.

“I’m sorry”, Palla repeated. “I didn’t want to wake you for something so silly.”

“You may always wake me.” Minerva brushed her arm with her thumb. Palla’s skin had prickled from the cold even more than Minerva’s had. For how long had she been standing out in the freezing night?

“Well, it’s just... my thoughts, they feel… So foolish.” Palla sighed, her breath steaming from both the cold and the lantern’s fire. “I _know_ I should know better.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

Palla sighed again and moved restlessly under the duvet, as if she couldn’t handle being restrained. Minerva loosened her grip immediately, giving her space. Though Palla didn’t move away from her, she only righted herself before she once again pulled Minerva close. Her breath was warm on Minerva’s cheek.

“After the simple victory of yesterday”, Palla began, “I can’t stop thinking of a plan that formed in my head afterward. A tactless, irrational plan. I think of how easy it would be for me, alone, to fly south. I could beat any mage trying to stop me; I could fly across Grust’s border, and I could… find Est.”

Palla silenced, and Minerva only nodded, brushed the bare skin on her arm.

“I keep thinking of how many days it would take, how many rations I would need, what route I’d take”, Palla continued. “And I feel so… Guilty. The League is truly a wonderful place, and here I am, happy, complete, while Est is... I don’t know where, Minerva. I’m her big sister, I owe her to find her, I _need_ to know she’s fine, I…”

Minerva carefully hugged her closer. Palla let out a shaky breath and leaned her head against Minerva’s. Her cheeks were damp.

“Before she deserted, Est said that I could find her if I wanted to”, Palla whispered, “But she must have overestimated me. I haven’t’ a clue, I know that she said she’d search for a stolen regalia, but where? Is she up against Grust’s elite Sable Order? The Grustian king? I don’t know, Minerva, I don’t _know_.”

Tears ran down along Minerva’s hairline, soft, tired tears.

“I just want my sister.” Palla was sobbing, now. “ _Gods_ — I just want my sister.”

Minerva closed her eyes. She, if anyone, could understand the helplessness, the heartflattening fear; but understanding didn’t help, didn’t help one bit. All she could do was hold Palla close, listen as her sobs slowly stilled.

“Catria worries too”, Palla said, her voice still cracking but a bit more composed than before. “I know she does, but she keeps it to herself so that she’ll be able to look confident in front of me, to console _me_. I feel like a pathetic excuse for an elder sister.”

“You aren’t”, Minerva whispered back. “Gods, Palla. There are much worse older siblings, I promise.”

Palla chuckled a little at that, still with tears falling into Minerva’s hair. “I still feel terrible. And pathetic – this isn’t half of what you endured with Maria.”

Despite it all, Minerva smiled a little. “This isn’t about me. You’re allowed to shed tears for your own troubles, and you may load said troubles on me, always. Do not be harsh on yourself – you’re the shining opposite of pathetic.”

Palla pulled the duvet up to her face, dried her tears. “Minerva...”

“And I don’t know if it is much consolation, but you should know I _mean_ it when I say that I believe Est is alive and well.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Palla’s voice was only a hiccup. She shifted a little under the duvet, resting her forehead close to Minerva’s temple. “I’d like to be convinced of that, too. But in my heart, I still see Est as a small child, a toddler running across the clearing outside our house playing with sticks and tripping over her own feet. By the Divines, Minerva; how could my mind possibly persuade my heart that this little child is doing fine, all alone behind enemy lines?”

Minerva opened her eyes to glance out into the darkness of the Khadein desert. She didn’t really have an answer, but she sensed Palla didn’t expect one either. They stood silently as the cold slowly crept in under the duvet.

Maria had mentioned that they were lucky it was winter. Khadein’s nights were even colder in the summer, however little sense that made to Minerva. The land of magic obeyed different rules, its climate branded to be obscure by experimental hexes done in ancient times – from what Maria had explained to them, anyway.  
_Maria_.

She hadn’t used her lightning to kill anyone during the earlier battle, something Minerva was eternally grateful for. At least, she hadn’t killed anyone _yet_. Minerva hated the thought of that inevitable day, hated to see the softness around Maria corrode away. Earth magic was slowly traded for destructive lightning, the gentle smiles traded for determined frowns.

If only fate had been kinder.

Minerva interrupted her thoughts with a deep breath. At least Maria was there with them, alive and bright. Est wasn’t. Minerva adjusted the duvet around Palla’s shoulders and bent her head to meet Palla’s gaze.

“Would you like to come back inside?”

Palla glanced at her with reddened eyes. “I don’t think I can sleep.”

“We don’t have to.” Minerva stepped out from under the duvet and rubbed Palla’s arms. They were still prickled. “We would just be warmer, I figured.”

Palla caught Minerva’s arms, smiling slightly. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Minerva lifted the tent flap with one hand, with the other between Palla’s shoulder blades. She bowed her head with a careful smile. “After you, dear knight.”

Palla laughed quietly as she ducked in under the tent’s roof. “You are curtsying at me again.”

“Just try and stop me.”

The flash of a smile, before Palla pulled Minerva inside as well. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”


	56. An Oasis of Magic

Khadein University outlined itself along the gray horizon. In the shadows of its towers, hundreds of trees were growing, and rich, grass-clad soil stretched out from the building’s base like veins. The lushness spread out for miles, the League reached it long before they were anywhere close to the University itself. Titania had stopped to sniff the grass suspiciously, and the front line took their first steps with great care. Nothing about it seemed natural – Minerva didn’t like the feel of the air, there was a tang of something otherworldly in every breath. Minerva had felt that ever since they entered through the sandstorm wall, but it was much more intense around the University. If that was the surges of magic that had excited Maria so much, Minerva could have done without it. Though the strange-feeling air wasn’t something that could draw her focus, not now.

Under the shades of the trees, hundreds of Khadein’s mages stood hunched around the University walls, their presence like a vibrating dissonance with the natural beauty. The enemy all wore simple mage’s cloaks, and kept their hoods over their faces. They did not appear to move, they waited for their hunters – or _prey_ – to come close enough.

 

Minerva pulled her eyes away.

She did not like this, but she’d be damned to be left behind again. Three Pegasus knights and four magicians were not enough to face this deadly platoon. The League needed all its power.

After all, the mages were not even their greatest threat.

“Gharnef is by a tower in the east”, Linde called to the League, her voice amplified by her magic. Minerva shielded her eyes to be able to see, and found the small tower of stone, a long way from the rest of the army.

A cloaked figure stood in front of the tower’s entrance. The fabric of the figure’s cloth did not flap around wildly in the wind, as the other mages' did; rather, it was the center of some sort of unnatural stillness.

Minerva would lie if she said she recognized him from so far away, but the terrible feeling in her gut was all too familiar. Almost seven years had passed since she’d been in Gharnef’s presence, but she remembered it all the same.

“Keep an eye on him at all times!” Linde yelled further. “We don’t know what kinds of traps he’ll set, but remember that he can warp without limits. Princess Minerva will act as a scout; when she drops the Archanean flag, Gharnef is on the move. Until then, we’ll take care of the mages!”

Minerva gestured an acknowledgement along with most others around her. She got a friendly fist on her shoulder from Catria, who was preparing to lift off into the air.

“We’ll make quick work of this, Commander”, Catria reassured her. “Just you see.”

Marth called out an order – his voice wasn’t amplified, but there was no need. Such a simple command was recognized by all.

“ _Form the front_!”

Palla leaned over and hugged Minerva’s hand, she then urged her Pegasus to lift off alongside Catria. Minerva arched her neck to follow them with her gaze. She couldn’t ignore her longing to join them, but this time she had something to focus on. A purpose of her own.

Marth called out a second order and the group of magicians stepped forward. Lena turned around and hoisted her staff – an intricate creation, it’s spire reminded Minerva of the rosehip bushes her father had loved so much. A thought she quickly pushed aside.

“This will protect your body and mind from most magic”, Lena called over the army. “But it will wear off, and with so many of you, it can be used only once. Engage carefully!”

With that, she thrust the staff into the ground. The spire cracked, and a crescent shockwave travelled over them all. When it reached Minerva, she could still feel it after it had passed; the magic lay like a layer of thick water over her skin, and cleared her sight for details she hadn’t noticed before. The Earth had a warm glow, the sun seemed sharper, and the mages in front of her shone of a hundred different auras. Was this how magical people saw the world?

Caeda had left Marth’s side and flew to join the two Whitewings, beginning their charge. The mage army answered.

 

Magic crackled the air and lit up the sky. The League frontrunners clashed with their enemy, and beneath the saddle, Minerva felt Titania rear back a little. The same went for the horses and non-magical people around her – no one was too eager to engage, but they had to be ready. Seven people couldn’t keep a hundred back; a few of the enemy would manage to get past them and reach the back lines.

Minerva took to the air. Her mission, aside from scouting for Gharnef, was to keep track of any attackers slipping past their front; where she dived, many more would follow. Her fellow non-magicians may be vulnerable to the mages, but they had their strength in numbers. As long as the front took the main blow, Minerva doubted they could lose. Catria harvested life with her quick javelin throws, and Palla swept along the enemy front, her sword leaving devastation. Caeda took bites of the army’s center with her merciless plunges – almost all of the mage’s efforts were aimed to stop the three of them, but their attacks were diverted, parried or doused by the four magicians of the League. Or rather, Minerva guessed that was what happened – lightning came out of perfectly cloudless skies, fires crawled along invisible trails in the air and small blizzards threatened to hit into the Pegasus knight offense, but most never got close enough to touch a feather on their wings.

The enemy noticed the fruitlessness of their efforts, and their tactics slowly changed. There were still plenty of the enemy mages left, and they began to fan out in order to become less easy targets from the air. They moved in a stream over the grass, toward the vulnerable back line.

That they moved in such unison was a slight problem. Minerva had to determine where the greatest threat lay, and quickly. She spun in the saddle before she plunged to the western division.

She had enough throwing axes to defend Hardin’s squad – which might count as a second apology for her earlier rudeness, aside from the apology she’d already voiced earlier that morning. She moved away immediately after her counterattack, but not before a wall of fire slammed against her back. The hit made her nauseous, but not much else. The barrier magic did its wonders – and not just for her. The pirate Darros had taken quite a hit before he finished a mage. He knelt from exhaustion, but he was alive. Another mage tried to land a second blow, but Draug rushed in front to take the hit instead, angrily sweeping with his spear. Apparently, magic worked a lot like arrows – it couldn’t go through multiple targets.

The rear became a bit more chaotic after meeting resistance. Minerva had soon emptied her belt of throwing axes, and dozens of mages still remained. She had to take them on face to face. She scanned the ground, and glanced to the tower in the east.

She froze. She didn’t see Gharnef anywhere. Minerva had seen him a mere moment before. Of course he’d choose the most awful time to move.  
Minerva tore the cloth of a tattered Archanean flag from her saddle straps, waved it a few times in the air before she dropped it. A signal for all to see.

 _The Sorcerer has moved_.

Minerva looked around frantically, trying to figure out where Gharnef had gone. She couldn’t spot him, but on the southeastern quadrant of their army, a small figure had begun to separate from the rest, far enough to step outside of one of the grassy veins, and onto the desert sand. The figure’s blue cloak was visible all the way to the sky, a stark contrast to the gray sand – its goal a kneeling mage. The mage had let down his hood, his red hair shining as brightly as Marth’s cloak, and his hands were raised in surrender. Minerva could see Marth’s guard relax slightly – he wasn’t going to rush in, but a scene like the one the mage portrayed couldn’t be ignored, not by him. Perhaps this mage knew that just as well as Minerva did.

 _Gods, Marth_. Minerva’s stomach churned. _Not now_.

She turned Titania toward the southeast, her eyes not averting from Marth for a second. She didn’t know what she expected – the mage’s surrender could be genuine, but she couldn’t count on it. Caeda certainly wouldn’t.

Marth stopped a few wyvern lengths away from the mage, and they appeared to be speaking – or _Marth_ was; the mage switched his demeanor as soon as his target slowed down. A roaring fire engulfed the prince. A merciless bonfire. Minerva could hear Marth’s cry – in shock, pain or both. Without the barrier staff, he couldn’t have survived such an assault. And most likely, he wouldn’t survive the second one.

Not that the mage would get the chance to find out.

Minerva crashed down between Marth and the mage. Sand sprayed around Titania’s feet, showering the mage in the hard grains. It blinded him from the killing blow of Minerva’s axe, he died without having the time to know fear. A mercy he didn’t deserve.

A croaking voice called out her name. Minerva turned, and with Titania’s running steps, she was by Marth’s side within a moment. She reached down for him, pulled him to his feet. The sun must have hidden behind a cloud; she could barely see Marth in the darkness around them.

“Fly while you can, little Macedonan. The prince’s life is mine.”

The words crawled through Minerva’s skin, chilled her bones. She lifted her chin, and her eyes met the lifeless gaze of Gharnef. Darkness moved around him, a palpable substance in the air.  _No._

Minerva didn’t think for long – she took Marth under his arms, and lifted him completely off the ground, then dropped him on the other side of Titania. Marth let out a surprised grunt, and Minerva thought she heard him flop down like a rag on the ground.

Maybe it was pointless to try, but she wasn’t going anywhere. 

 _I never flee._ She bared her teeth and hoisted Hauteclere, aware that her threat was an empty one. If what Linde said was true, Minerva couldn’t harm this creature. She wasn’t given many options, though.

“You dare oppose me, fool?” Gharnef’s laugh moved like slime. “You must not value your life.”

 _Quite the contrary_ , Minerva thought, her mouth too dry to speak. Her heart hammered, but she held Hauteclere high. Moving to strike was useless, what mattered was that she stayed between Marth and this danger for as long as possible. Magic didn’t pass through two targets at once, she’d just seen that it couldn’t. The shadowy void around them intensified around Gharnef’s hands, into the condensed size of an arrows tip vibrating of an unholy power.

Minerva lunged at him in an attempt to interrupt the spell, but her axe merely passed through the sorcerer, doing nothing.

She heard Gharnef’s chuckle from all directions, echoing inside her mind. She backed away, stopping again between Marth and the heinous darkness. Titania pulled at the reins with a nervous bugle, but Minerva stood firm. Without Marth, everything was lost – Minerva wouldn’t see him harmed, if that cost her life, so be it. She might survive the hit with the barrier staff’s effect on her, but she didn’t count on it.

_I won’t run._

Minerva had always figured she’d die from the hand of someone with fiery hate and anger, a human or a manakete. That her last sight would be the gleeful smile of a creature that was neither, surrounded by hopeless darkness—

Runes of light appeared before her, blinding inside the void of Gharnef’s spell – and immediately followed by the runes was a small human, shining like the sun.

“Lay _off_ my sister, you bastard!”

The compact dark void exploded. No longer able to press down on itself further, a beam erupted and spread like a swarm of angry insects, splitting the air. The sound of its release came with the screams of a thousand tortured souls. Minerva cowered in the saddle, not sure what she was seeing. There was so much darkness.

The only light was Maria.

Her tiny body strained as she held what looked like a star in front of her like a shield. It didn’t hold for long before the swarm of darkness shattered it, and the beam tore into Maria’s body. Violet, screaming smoke enclosed her, scorching the ground around Maria’s feet into black ashes. Maria cried out, but it sounded more like anger than pain. And she stood firm, not a grain of the magic touching Minerva or Marth.

The ungodly sounds ceased after a brief eternity, and the sun reappeared from behind the dusky veil around them. The sorcerer in front of them only chuckled before he too disappeared, leaving only runes of light hovering in the air where he’d stood.

The smoke around Maria had turned into a deep indigo, slowly evaporating with small hisses as soon as the sun’s rays touched it. Maria turned around with a jolt just as the sorcerer disappeared and ran toward Minerva.

“Minerva! Gods, Catria saw the signal and I saw you dive, then the sun just disappeared, Linde was occupied fighting so many mages but she still managed to warp _me_ —“

“It doesn’t matter”, Minerva half shouted as she put her hands around Maria’s dazed face. “Are you all right?”

Maria gave her a stunned smile and patted Minerva’s right hand. “Yeah. That Imhullu wasn’t so scary. Not to me.”

“Little battle hero”, Minerva whispered. She tried to make sense of what had happened, but all was a scramble of darkness and light. “You saved my life.”

“Yes, finally!” Maria grinned and corrected her diadem. “After you saved mine so many times, I’m so happy I could! I’m not so weak anymore.”

“Oh, Maria!” Minerva let out a laugh, and it tasted like salt. Tears. “You’ve never been weak.”

Titania let out another one of her worried bugles, and shifted her left wing. Minerva looked over her shoulder, and met Marth’s dazed expression. He was standing, hugging his rapier close with the sharp end poking a small hole in his cloak without him noticing.

“What just happened?” He rubbed his eyes, leaving clean marks where dirt otherwise had cut into his skin.

“Prince Marth”, Minerva greeted him, ignoring the tears in her eyes – she could hardly wipe them away with her gauntlets on. “It is possible that Gharnef intended for that innocent-looking mage to lure you out here – he wants you separated from anyone able to shield you, I gather.”

Maria peeked up over Titania’s neck. “We were lucky he chose to engage this late – maybe he believed his mage army could stand up to us. It could be that it’s just you he really wants dead, your highness.”

Marth pulled a hand along his cheek, his eyes searching the area around them. “Yet I’m not.” His eyes landed on Maria, then shifted to Minerva. He bowed his head, and sheathed his rapier. “Thank you both.”

“Do not thank us yet”, Maria said. “Gharnef will search for another opportunity – or he’ll create one. I’ll follow you on the ground, Minerva from the sky, until you’re with the main army again.”

Marth blinked the last grain of sand out of his eyes and nodded. He didn’t object to Maria forming orders. Neither did Minerva.

As soon as Maria and Marth had gone far enough for Titania to lift off, Minerva took to the skies. Her assignment hadn’t changed; she still had to scan the crowd for any sign of Gharnef.

The League had assembled into one large force again, the only ones who strayed were Palla and Caeda, hunting down the last of the mages still trying to assault the main force.  
Minerva spotted Marth in the middle of the force, with Maria by his side and Catria hovering above. No sign of the dark sorcerer.

She longed for a proper enemy, someone who at least had the decency to come close and swing a weapon at her. That was much easier to handle.

Minerva noticed the hint of bright dust from the west, but it disappeared as soon as she put her eyes on it – before it reappeared to the north, then to the south, then back in the west.

 _He’s toying with us_. The thought sent a dark chill down Minerva’s spine. How could they hope to win against such hopeless odds?

She spotted him again as she glanced down. This time, right next to Marth. Minerva could hear Maria’s yell all the way up into the sky.

“Leave him _alone_!”

A shot of lightning arched from a fling of Maria’s arms, giving Marth the opportunity to dive into a shielding mass of soldiers.

Gharnef merely held up a hand, his rotting lips cured into a wide smile. Maria’s attack bounced right off Gharnef’s palm, arched straight up into the sky. With a crack, it hit Titania’s chest. She let out a loud bellow of pain, and the saddle wobbled under Minerva. Titania lost height, and Minerva hurriedly threw her arms around Titania’s neck before the lightning would reach her. She remembered the pain and loss of control that magic wrought all too well, she didn’t want to risk losing her balance when she—

Lights flashed in front of her eyes and her back cramped, but she managed to stay in the saddle. Most of the pain just seemed to dance across the invisible protection along her skin.

“ _Minerva_!” The scream had to belong to Maria, but Minerva couldn’t determine the sound from the buzz in her ears.

 _I’m fine_ , she wanted to yell back, but couldn’t speak. She held on to the shaking saddle, still blind from the branches of lightning dancing before her vision. When she regained her sight, she found herself almost on the ground. Titania ran along the open field of grass to avoid a hapless crash, her steps halting and her breathing loud. When Titania managed to come to a stop, her entire body was trembling. She turned her head to face Minerva, her ragged breath puffing into Minerva’s face.

“Titania”, Minerva managed to croak, but she didn’t get any more chances to speak before Titania tackled her with her head. Minerva didn’t stand a chance of staying on Titania’s back after that – Minerva landed with a thud, on her side.

The mount forcing her master out of the saddle. An act every wyvern had the intelligence and power to perform, but was harshly trained to refrain from.  
Minerva was too stunned to voice any cries of pain or complaint. And she wouldn’t, even if she could. Titania’s knees buckled almost immediately afterward, her body crashing down onto the grass. Had Minerva remained in the saddle, her leg would have been crushed.

“Oh, Titania”, Minerva whispered under her breath.

Minerva tried to step toward her wyvern, but her knees didn’t support her. She could only crawl. Titania let out a groan, peering at Minerva with tired eyes.

“I... Hate all this... stupid magic... too...” Minerva panted. She could handle the ancient strangeness of Hauteclere and the soothing touch of a healing spell, but in that moment she wished with every burning breath that magic never existed at all.

She cursed Gharnef under her breath and turned her head to look in the direction of the army again.

 

Minerva had landed in the outskirts of the oasis, a good half mile away from the rest of the League. Stars still danced before her vision, but she could still make out the individual dots of people as the soldiers backed away. Made room for the shining star at the center of it all.  
Minerva recognized Linde, her long hair flying around her like a cape. A violent light continuously erupted from her, and it took Minerva a moment to realize it wasn’t just her eyes playing tricks on her – she was witnessing the work of Aura magic.

“We will not lose to you”, Linde screamed, her voice amplified and carrying over the desert, ringing echoes from the clocktowers in the University building.

“Fools”, Gharnef hissed, his voice still carrying over to Minerva, as if it were poison in her veins. “I will send the force of Khadein all over you—“

“There is no force”, Linde screamed back. The jarring sound of the Aura magic got even louder, like the sound of a giant bell right beside Minerva’s buzzing ears. “You’re alone! Just give us the Falchion.”

The sound and light stopped. Linde lowered her hands.

Gharnef was gone.

 _Not again_ , Minerva thought. She tried to stand again, and it worked. A bit shaky, but not so bad. She walked over to Titania, who arose with great effort. The wyverns’ chest had scorch-marks in the shape of lightning, its epicenter right in her chest.

She still panted, but did not complain as Minerva took her reins again, she even went so far as to give Minerva’s head a careful nudge.

“Good job, you too”, Minerva groaned. Her eyes worked properly now, and she did what she could to keep an eye out for more surprise appearances from Gharnef. She didn’t have to look for long.

Gharnef appeared in the sky above them, his body floating inside an air of darkness. His cloak was unnaturally still in the wind.

“Altean prince”, his voice echoed over the desert. “Why, I fear you are not quite imposing enough to warrant my staying here. I’m a busy man, and there are still quite a few errands you could run in my place. But if it’s Falchion you want so desperately, by all means, come and take it. I will be waiting for you at the Temple of Thabes.”

With that, Gharnef disappeared. For good this time, Minerva hoped.

 

Minerva limped through the crowd, excusing herself when she almost tripped into Barst. Abel rode up to her to offer her a hand, but Maria came there first.

“I’m _so_ sorry!” she cried, almost hitting Minerva in the face with her staff in her hurry to heal her disturbed body. She pushed her mending staff to her forehead, frowning deeply. “It was the second time I cast that spell, I should have thought it through better, I never meant for that to happen!”

“Of course not”, Minerva smiled tiredly. “Was Gharnef, not your fault.”

“But _still_ – oh, you poor soul”, she continued, crouching in front of Titania. Under Maria’s healing touch, the scorch-marks disappeared and Titania’s breathing eased. Minerva stroked the wyvern's neck and turned her eyes to the sky.

Caeda whooshed past above her and landed next to Marth by the university entrance. Two other pairs of wings swished closer to Minerva, as Catria and Palla joined her on the ground.

The fabric beneath Catria’s cuisses was bloodied, and the tip of Palla’s braid was frizzled, but their small smiles told Minerva all she needed to know. They weren’t in much pain. Palla dismounted and placed her hands behind Minerva’s neck, still smiling as she gave her forehead a kiss, but her eyes were solemn.

“You had me worried”, she whispered. “I would’ve liked for you to stay clear of all magic.”

“That’s not a simple request”, Minerva smiled tiredly back. “It’s everywhere. I can’t wait to leave this nonsense behind.”

“I’m with you on that, Commander”, Catria muttered from her saddle. “Oh, damn me. I can’t watch this.”

Minerva looked up at Catria’s words to understand what she’d meant, and she felt her gut twist.

 

Merric was moving over the University Oasis with his back bent. He wiped his eyes repeatedly while he pulled the bodies of the enemy mages into a circle, one by one. If anyone from the League offered to help, Merric waved them away.

He took one of the bodies that lay sprawling in the grass not far from Minerva and her squad, pulled it with loud, sobbing huffs.  
Those were people of his old life. Friends. Masters. Beaten, bloody and dead. Some of them by his own hand.

Minerva was ashamed for it, but she followed Catria’s example and looked to the side.

The League around them had drawn closer to the University entrance, and Minerva followed suit with Palla and Catria close behind her.

She didn’t hope for much, but just a small order from Marth would be enough. There needed to be order after this failure – but Marth only stood with his eyes set on the ground and his jaw quenched.

“We just killed...” Minerva could hear him mutter. “Nothing gained... Nothing at all.” Marth supported himself on the gate’s doorframe, his eyes distant. “No Falchion... The battle was for naught.”

Caeda stepped toward him, perhaps with the intention of taking the matter of yelling inspiring orders in her own hands – but she abruptly stopped and let out a cry.

“Marth! Stay back!”

The air outside the gate flickered, and the ethereal shape of a human appeared in front of Marth. The prince had merely had time to step away from the entrance before Caeda dived in front of him, and all other League soldiers sprang closer to the unknown, new threat.

Marth held up a hand, an order for them all to wait with their engage. Minerva was fairly sure she’d have stopped dead in her tracks anyhow – the ethereal shape had just _spoken_.

“ _Prince Marth_.”

The silence that followed was so thick Minerva could feel it in the air she breathed. Or perhaps that was just the odd feel of too much magic in her lungs.

The ethereal human spoke once more, its voice much clearer. “Prince Marth.”

“I’m the one you seek”, Marth answered the transparent figure. “Who are you, though?”

The ghostlike figure bowed. Minerva could finally see human features. A tired but regal face angled by an untrimmed beard, clad in a simple sage’s garb.

“My name is Gotoh...” The figure answered him. “I’m speaking to you from Macedon through magic.”

Minerva saw many eyes turn to her. She met none of them; instead she leaned in to look closer at the ethereal stranger. He wasn’t the least bit familiar – then again, she didn’t expect him to be. If he was an important figure in her homeland, Minerva could very well have missed his introduction during her six years abroad.

“Gotoh”, a voice exclaimed from behind Minerva. “Gotoh... The _White Sage_?!” Linde broke through the barrier of people, bumped into Minerva in her hurry to reach the sage.

“Linde”, the ethereal figure greeted her. He didn’t smile, but his eyes opened fully as he turned to face her. “My, what a blessing to know you are safe and well. Young Miloah would be proud of his daughter, if only he could see you now.”

Linde bowed her head. If it was out of sorrow or respect, Minerva didn’t know.

“And there are more good news yet”, the White Sage said with his gaze turning to Minerva and Maria. “It gladdens me to see children of Osmond stand us by. King Osmond was good to me. What a blessing to see that his legacy might still survive. Osmond left me and my pupils in peace during our many decades in Macedon – sadly I can’t say the same under our current ruler. I cannot leave Macedon, I simply cannot; and that is why I contact you in this manner. Khadein’s magical air makes this conversation possible, now that Gharnef’s aura temporarily ceased its corruption of this sacred oasis.”

The White Sage fell silent to let his words settle. Linde kept her head bowed down, and she blinked repeatedly to chase away the gleam of tears. Maria stood beside her, her eyes wide and lips parted in surprise that she didn’t dare utter, her eyes stuck on the ethereal shape like he was a god in the flesh. And perhaps he wasn’t far from it.

Minerva’s thoughts spun as she tried to wrap her head around his words. The world’s Archsage, an age-old legend, had lived in her kingdom for decades? And nobody had known, except her father – and _Michalis_.

Minerva felt betrayed, somehow. Why would her father keep such a thing secret from her, and not Michalis? Was that knowledge only for the eldest heir? Or had Michalis found the Archsage on his own? Childish anger blossomed at the base of her throat, she couldn’t stop it.

The White Sage blinked slowly – his eyelids had such transparent skin, Minerva could see how his eyes moved beneath them. Once he opened them fully again, his gaze was turned to Marth.

“My time here is short. I cannot keep this form for too long. You have to hear my request, Prince Marth.”

Marth’s brow was wrinkled into a deep frown, but he didn’t hesitate before he gave his acknowledgement with a nod.

“My former pupil Gharnef has wrought the world unforgivable suffering”, the White Sage began. “I underestimated his cunning, and I do not want your liberation to make the same mistake. Gharnef already has the power of immortality from Imhullu – enough to be respected by the dragons, but not feared. With the Falchion, that changes. Doluna must think twice before challenging him. Even as a human, Gharnef had a palate for power. With Imhullu corrupting his soul, I doubt he’ll be satisfied with what he has. I doubt he will rest until he is the sole ruler of the world, but he will not be hasty. He’s too clever, too patient. He left you alive, and I can only imagine he’s realized you could be potential pawns in his game. He always was a quick thinker.”

Minerva liked the White Sage less for each word he spoke. There was sadness in his voice, but every compliment he spoke to Gharnef’s name was genuine.

“Prince Marth, young lady Linde – you were fools to think you could challenge him”, the sage continued. Marth’s frown deepened, and new gleaming tears formed in the corners of Linde’s eyes, but none of them spoke to object.

“If you’ve come only to criticize”, Caeda said through her teeth, “I suggest you’d better be brief.”

The White Sage shook his head without looking at Caeda. “I do not say this to offend. The world is paying for my carelessness, and I wish to set things right. There is a way for you to undo Imhullu’s power. It is called Starlight, the most powerful light magic known to us. Just one blast is enough to break through Imhullu’s shadowy protection, and likely tear Gharnef apart. It is the only way to end his cursed existence. That is my message to you, Prince Marth.”

Marth nodded again, his fingers absentmindedly on his sword’s hilt. “Thank you, Lord Gotoh.”

“Do not thank me just yet.” The White Sage flickered as he raised his hand and put it against an invisible wall in front of him. He stretched his neck as if he peered out through a window. Carefully. Was his real body in hiding?

“Starlight is a tome that was banished and destroyed a long time ago, just as Imhullu was”, the White Sage went on. “I can recreate it, but I will need Lightsphere and Starsphere, two orbs residing in the treasury in the old Divine Dragon-temple. The Fane of Raman.”

“That’s in Grust”, Minerva heard Catria whisper to her. “Talk about bad luck.”

“My time here is running out”, the White Sage said, and his form did indeed falter a little. “Heed me, leaders of the liberation. Find me in Macedon with the two orbs in your possession, and I shall bring you Starlight.”

The shape flickered yet again, but before it vanished, Minerva took a step closer.

“In Macedon _where_?”

The shape of the White Sage crouched, as if hiding behind a wall that Minerva was unable to see.

“Castle dungeons”, were his final words, before his shape disappeared into dust.

Marth took a careful step in under the arch of the gate to the University, waving with his hand in the air in front of him. He looked as perplexed as Minerva felt. He stood quiet for a moment, before his eyes found Minerva’s.

His every question now silently directed right at her.

 _I knew nothing of this_ , she wanted to yell back at him, but all she did was clench her jaw and darken her gaze. Begging him to leave her alone.

“Dismissed”, Marth called out over the army, eyes still locked with Minerva. “Care for the wounded. Burn the dead. And pray for us all. You’ll hear from me soon, I swear it.”

A wave of muttering travelled among the League, and in a ripple of movement the assembly dissolved.

Palla put her hand on Minerva’s arm, an invite for her to move back along with the rest of them. As much as Minerva wished to leave with her, she only shook her head. It didn’t matter that she had no answers; the mess around the White Sage still involved her. She couldn’t leave. She’d already rudely abandoned an ally once, she shouldn’t do it again.

Palla hugged her arm with her hand and stopped trying to step back. “I won’t be doing my job as your knight very well if I were to leave you.”

“Battle’s over”, Minerva said, placing her hand over Palla’s. “I’ll be fine. I’ll catch up soon.”

Palla smiled in understanding, slipped her hand off Minerva’s arm and left. Her steps were slow and unwilling, but she didn’t look back.

The air was emptier without her. Minerva followed Palla with her gaze as she disappeared into the mass of soldiers, and in the background of it all, Minerva could still see Merric dragging corpses into a circle. He put their hands on their chests, did his best to cover every stab wound with torn clothing. He dried his eyes with his sleeve every few seconds, his lips moving in prayer. Had he not noticed the White Sage showing up, or did he simply not care?

The sight of him stabbed under Minerva’s ribs. She looked away.

She’d be quick in straightening things out with Marth, then she’d leave and never have to see this hateful oasis again.

“Marth.” Minerva knew she didn’t have much hope in catching his attention; only the nobles and Linde remained near the gate, but their silence was pressing enough. Marth put his fingers over the bridge of his nose, his gaze distant.

“What to make of this”, he murmured to himself, before he looked up. “Can anyone try to explain to me what just happened?”

“The White Sage has magic capabilities beyond our comprehension.” Linde lifted her chin. She was so proud still, even with sorrow in her eyes.”My guess is that he can project his consciousness, but he mentioned he needed places with strong magical energies to _land in_ , so to speak. How he knew we were here, and that we’d hunted Gharnef away for the time being, I will not even pretend to know. As for the orbs he spoke of – the Fane of Raman lies deep in Grust. We couldn’t possibly go there now.”

“Leave the militant speculation to us, please”, Prince Hardin put in. Linde pushed her lips together, but stayed quiet.

Marth glanced over to Minerva again, a heavy weight against her mind.

“Had you any knowledge of this, princess Minerva?”

Minerva’s gauntlets creaked as she clutched her fists. “None, your highness.”

“Maria?”

Maria only shook her head, too stunned to speak. Minerva hated getting a look of distrust form Marth. She understood why, but she still hated it.

“Do not blame the princesses”, Linde blurted out, to Minerva’s great surprise. “The location of the White Sage is always kept secret. No one must know where he is, save for his pupils and the regent in the kingdom he currently resides.”

 _Thank you_ , Minerva was about to say, but all she could manage was an astonished look on Linde before Prince Hardin spoke again.

“Well, now he’s revealed his location to over a thousand people”, Hardin said in a short tone. “Those old rules don’t seem to apply anymore. What’s important is if this great sage will be forced to act against us. He’s within enemy borders.”

Caeda’s eyes flashed in frustration, and she put her hands on her hips. “How could you even force anyone if he’s outlived most manakete and can talk to someone across the whole continent?”

 _Michalis can force anyone_ , Minerva wanted to say, but only tasted bile.

“The White Sage is not invincible like Gharnef”, Linde continued. “He’s only safe from old age’s death. Legends say he carries dragon blood, so that could explain his long life and great magical prowess. I find it difficult to believe he’d be forced to become a weapon for Macedon, but... He did indeed seem afraid – or at least wary of something. Or someone.”

Minerva felt Maria’s hand take hers, and she looked down. Maria met her gaze with her mouth in a thin line, eyes hard. Minerva answered in kind, with a serious nod. There was no need to speak. The less Minerva got to taste the bile from placing Michalis’ name on her tongue, the better.

“Gotoh has lived since the First Dragon War, a millennia ago”, Linde said. “He has seen hundreds of wars come and go, but never intervened in such human matters. Although this no longer is a human war, I’d still say... For him to risk his life by speaking to you, Prince Marth, it is simply incredible.”

“Why it’s an honor, to be sure”, Marth answered her, his eyes now on Merric as the mage put the final corpses in place in the circle. “But this isn’t the time to discuss the topic further. Let’s go back to the camp.”

“Ah, no, good sir, please stay for a little longer.”

All eyes turned to the University gardens on the other side of the gate arch, where a bent old man was making his way toward them. He supported himself on something that reminded Minerva of a lance, though in the old man’s hands, it didn’t look like a weapon at all.

Linde was the first to respond by pushing her way past Marth and Caeda. She stopped in the center of the gates’ opening. Her light magic ready.

“Turn around”, she threatened the old man. “We don’t want more casualties than necessary.”

“No we don’t, no we don’t”, the man answered and stopped, leaning on the lance. “I swear to you, I mean no harm. I’d ask kindly that you let me pass. We might have disagreed on too many things, but I want to give my fellow mages a decent burial.”

Linde did not move. “It’s being taken care of. Please turn around.”

Merric had finished his task, and joined Marth’s side. Minerva gave him a careful glance, but the mage wasn’t looking at any of them. His reddened eyes focussed on the old man, a sight that brought new tears over his cheeks. He gently pushed Linde out of the way.

“Master Wendell”, he said under his breath. “I thought...”

The old man smiled. “Merric. Young lad. Now there’s a face I haven’t seen in a long time. How it gladdens me to see one of you children, uncorrupted.”

Merric did not answer him, only pulled a hand along his face, shaking his head.

“You’re the one taking care of the lost souls?”

Merric only nodded.

“You always were a good child. Do you think I could come to see them, say my farewells?”

Merric turned his head, asking permission by a teary look on Marth. The prince nodded once. He stepped out of the way, pulling Linde along with him.

Merric supported the old master on his shoulders, leading him to the ceremonial circle where the bodies now lay in an almost peaceful manner. Merric had placed them in a clearing in front of the University entrance, where it was still visible for those at the gate. The grass was trampled by all the League soldier’s feet and the soil disturbed from the many magic assaults; their burial ground was to become a battlefield. Not an end fit for a mage.

“I’m so sorry, Master Wendell”, Minerva overheard Merric say. “They shouldn’t have... I wish I hadn’t...”

The old master patted Merric’s shoulder with his fingers.

“Lad”, the master said. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I let my pupils down. I’m sorry I couldn’t return them to the path of sanity. I’m sorry I couldn’t undo the poisonous vines Gharnef planted in their hearts. I tried everything, but I did not try enough. They were so convinced that Gharnef was a friend to magic, convinced that the world despised us and our ancient legacy. Living like this, so secluded from the rest of the world, there wasn’t a way to disprove that. Instead, the hatred only brewed hotter. Gharnef told us that under his rule, magicians would be the ones with power, we’d be the ones to conquer the world when Doluna had weakened our continent. The closing of our borders was for us to wait until that day came. Divines have mercy on us; Gharnef turned even our gentlest scholars into soldiers.”

The master slumped, shook his head. “I’m afraid it doesn’t end with this, either. I and Master Celia managed to shelter the youngest children in the university during this battle, but the poor children will no doubt let these deaths only fuel their fear and bitterness. If not, Gharnef will return to make sure of it. Sometimes he warps inside the university walls, to _teach_ , he says. But the only thing the children learn is to hate the world outside our borders.”

Merric bent his head.

“It is my fault as much as yours”, he said. “I left you all here. I could have helped, but I fled like a selfish coward.”

“No, lad. You were braver than most of us. We all should have fled when Gharnef came to change us. We, the wise masters, should have known his poisonous words would corrupt the children. We should have stood up to him, should have left. But we masters did not dare leave our home, our legacy. Young Merric, you could have been in this burial ring, too, if it weren’t for your courage to leave what was familiar.”

This time, Merric cried for all to hear. With his free hand, he covered his face, his loud sobs echoing over the sands.

 

Minerva forced herself to watch the two mages, slumped together in grief. In the edges of her vision, she saw Marth taking Caeda’s hand, though to Minerva’s surprise, Caeda pulled her hand back. Her eyes were set on the two mages as she threw her lance on the ground and walked away with brisk steps, her Pegasus trotting close behind.  
Minerva closed her eyes. How many of the mages in the circle had not died by Caeda’s hand? This had been a battle for their lives, but such victories were never glorious.

Minerva winced. She’d have to face the same ordeal one day. Macedon had to be cut off from Doluna, and Minerva would stand as Merric stood now, the dead among her people piled up in front of her.

 _There aren’t any Macedonans left there that I will shed tears for_ , she thought in an attempt to harden her mind, but every sob from Merric still stabbed at her like sharp needles.

She opened her eyes, found her sight blurred by tears. She removed her gauntlet to wipe her eyes, and when she got her vision back, Merric had turned toward her and the others.

He forced forth a weak smile. “Friends... Thank you for staying.”

He mustn’t have noticed Caeda leaving. Or that Minerva and the others had done absolutely nothing to ease his grief. Although perhaps just standing and breathing the same sorrowful air was enough support. Minerva hoped so.

“Linde... Maria...” Merric’s smile trembled as he looked upon the magicians with pleading eyes. “Would you... Would you help with the... burn...?”

Maria looked up on Minerva with an expression of uncertainty. Minerva clasped her shoulder with her gauntlet-free hand and tried her best encouraging smile.

“You can do it”, Minerva whispered to her. “I’ll be right here.”

Maria looked away, set her eyes on the burial ring. The determined frown returned. She joined in with Linde as they stepped up beside Merric and the master.  
Linde clasped Merric’s hand in hers, and she reached out for Maria to take her other hand. Maria hesitated, holding on to her mending staff with both hands before she finally dared take Linde’s hand.

As soon as the four magicians stood aligned, Linde began to chant the words of fire. Flames licked the air and ground around the magicians, before it sank into the earth and erupted over every individual corpse in the ring. The dead mages turned to ash within seconds, and the flames died down with them. The grass in the circle was untouched. The only trace of the dead was a putrid smell that lingered in the air, before Maria let go of Linde’s hand and kneeled. Maria dug her hands into the grass, closed her eyes and bent her head. Minerva saw her lips move, but it couldn’t have been more than a whisper.

A ripple moved beneath Maria’s fingers, and the ashes of the dead were swallowed by the earth. The only traces of the bodies were a ring of slightly darker green grass.

“Thank you”, Merric said, his voice still thick.

“Yes, please accept our gratitude, Earth magician”, Wendell smiled at Maria. “I hope their spirits will find peace now, knowing they got a decent burial after all.”

Maria gave them a shaky smile in return, brushed the dirt off her gown as she arose. Merric cleared his throat, and turned to Marth, still half-supporting the old man by his side.

“Marth.” Merric gestured to the master beside him. “This is Master Wendell.”

The master bowed his head with a small smile.

“Prince Marth”, he greeted. “Word of the Archanean League’s great accomplishments travels wide, and even if that hadn’t been the case, I’d still say that I’m truly humbled to meet you. Merric spoke well of you often.” Wendell ducked under Merric’s arm to release himself from his support, and stretched out his lance toward Marth. “Though that is not the reason I called for you to stay. I had hoped to provide what I can. This weapon here is a _dragonpike_. It was recreated after long years of studying ancient documents – its shape is designed to penetrate the scales of a dragon, and the magic in its fibres acts as a weakening poison. I’ve kept it out of Gharnef’s hands, and now I give it to you. May it help bring us the peace we dearly need.”

Marth managed to produce a smile, and his hands gently caught the dragonpike as the old master turned it over to him. He didn’t seem to know how to hold a lance, though; Minerva had to step out of the way to avoid getting poked by the sharp tip. A flush spread over Marth’s throat, and he almost shoved the weapon into the arms of Prince Hardin.

Hardin only smiled and tipped it over his shoulder.

“I thank you, master Wendell.” Marth dipped his brow, his smile dying. “I’m so sorry to be the cause of this destruction. I came to liberate, I came with hope of a way to defeat Medeus, but all I wrought was grief. Please extend my words to the children that remain. I only wish for them to be free of their fear.”

Wendell shook his head. “Greif was not all you brought, sire. You’ve hunted Gharnef away for the time being, and I could perhaps convince some of the children to run before he returns. I will get another chance to hide them until the day of peace comes. They deserve to learn the ways of magic without thoughts of using it for war. For this chance, I thank you, your highness.”

Wendell turned to Merric and extended a hand toward him.

Merric’s eyes steeled slightly, and he gave the master’s hand a firm shake.

“I will live to return here one day”, Merric said to him. “I swear it.”

“I know you will, lad. I know you will.” Wendell smiled wholeheartedly at him, before he met Marths’ gaze once more. “Now, I bid you farewell, League. I hope that if you return to our university, it will be a happier occasion.”


	57. The Road South

The whistling of the skies was not enough to drown out the bustling voices from below. Hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers stood in line to get their provisions when Minerva and Maria flew past the northern part of camp, and the noise only increased the closer they got to the healer’s tent. Cries distorted in the wind, begging for a second of Lena’s attention, all while the figure of Lena scurried between the injured, alternating between her healing staff and herbal remedies.

 

Minerva set down as close to the healer’s tent as she could, the swarming voices growing more intense with the dozens of injured that had caught sight of Maria.  
Maria slipped out of the saddle before Titania had time to fold her wings.

“Got to go”, she said under her breath, her mending staff in hand. “Thank you for the lift.”

Minerva raised her hand in a half-hearted wave, but Maria was already gone, disappeared in the sea of people.

 

For the fraction of a second, Minerva considered calling her back. With the reveal of the White Sage and the mention of Michalis, there were so many things Minerva needed to discuss with Maria, but surely that could wait? She shouldn’t hold Maria from her duties. Or at least, that was an excuse Minerva openly embraced, and not for the first time.  
She had delayed the inevitable talk ever since the day Maria was freed, and Minerva still didn’t know what to say. How could she even begin such a conversation?  
_Father never implied anything about having an ancient being within our borders, but hey, this White Sage has apparently been his friend for years. Crazy, huh? But let’s move past that to the topic I REALLY wanted to lift. You got a moment? I’ve been keeping some things from you – you see, I think Michalis murdered father. I’m going to kill him, for that, and for what he did to you. It’s what’s best for Macedon too. I hope you agree. Well. He still has to die. Anyway, nice talk._

Minerva winced at the thought, and her stomach churned.

 _Pathetic_. She should just get it over with. What was the worst that could happen? Except cutting open every scar that had barely healed. Except having to face Maria’s fear, disappointment, or – gods forbid – _anger_.

Battles and blood were hard enough.

No. Minerva had to tell her _someday_ , but not now.

 _Now_ was about trying to patch the tears in the army’s morale, about trying to move past the sorrow that closed in on them like an airtight bubble. With that unyielding heaviness in the air, Minerva wasn’t being unreasonable in wanting to wait. After all, the tight pressure of failure would cease sooner or later – and that would be a much better time to bring up the matter of Michalis.

Or maybe Minerva was just giving herself more excuses to delay.

 

She let Titania walk freely to the stables; the wyvern knew the way without Minerva’s input.  
Though _stable_ was a bit of an exaggeration. The place wasn’t more than a few mangers for water and hay and a dozen scattered poles sticking out from the sand, half of them lopsided due to the unstable ground.

Stable or not, Titania still walked to her place with the confidence of a queen. She snapped her jaws at some of the workhorses and watched them with keen eyes as they reined back – a sight most wyverns found amusing. Minerva was too tired to care about her mount’s bad behaviour, and only gave the reins an annoyed pull to the left. Titania grunted, but in the next moment she let out a bugle of excitement and bent down at the whole sheep that lay at her resting spot.

 

Minerva hurried out of the saddle to pull the bridle off and step back before Titania dug her face into her meal. Minerva would never forget the endless hours she’d spent cleaning the bridle after the first and last time she’d done the mistake of thinking a feeding wyvern didn’t make a mess.

Free from her duties, Titania immediately busied herself in tearing into the sheep. Minerva couldn’t help smiling at Caeda’s Pegasus, who trotted further away with a disgusted look their way while Palla’s and Catria’s pegasi continued their casual grazing of hay right beside Titania.

Feet on the ground, Minerva took her time removing Titania’s saddle, then moved on to carefully polish her scales and wings. It allowed her to put the rest of the world aside for a few minutes, a precious practice on which Minerva had less and less time to spend. It was a shame, since Titania deserved that and more for her endurance and loyalty.

Minerva was busying herself with brushing the dirt from between the spikes on Titania’s neck when Titania without warning lifted the entire torn-up sheep in her jaws and swung it at Minerva. The sheep’s hooves smattered against Minerva’s pauldron, the force of the blow enough to stagger her. She caught her balance by backing into Titania’s side.

“Come now”, Minerva laughed unsurely. “That’s a bit rude.”

In answer, Titania ripped off a piece of meat and thrashed it into Minerva’s face. Minerva slid away further, but Titania only pressed on, letting out a low, worried growl.

Minerva finally understood. She took the meat and gently placed it down beside the rest of the sheep, making sure to have eye contact with Titania as she did.

“ _Thank you_ , love”, she said as clearly as she could, and rubbed her own nose. “I get it, but we don’t have to share anymore, you know. That’s in the past. I can get my own food.”

Minerva had temporarily forgotten about their lonely time with Doluna’s Talys invasion force, though Titania obviously hadn’t. She regarded Minerva with narrowed eyes, before she gobbled down the rest of the sheep. With a sore nose, Minerva finished polishing Titania’s scales, then put away the brush and gave Titania’s neck a final pat before she turned her steps to hers and Palla’s tent.

 

As she opened the tent flap, the first thing she was met by was a loud gasp. Palla arose from her task of cleaning her chainmail and grabbed hold of Minerva’s face.

“What happened to you?” She looked down on Minerva’s hands, then on her face again. “You didn’t look this way when I left you! Your blood, or someone else’s?”

“Blood? Blood where?” Minerva glanced down on Palla’s hands, noticed the red stains running down the heels of her palms.

“Oh”, she said. “It’s nothing. Titania tried to force-feed me out of old habit. Shoved her food in my face. She’s nice like that.”

Palla relaxed her shoulders and let go. “You scared me; here I thought things got heated between you and the others after I left you at the University. Caeda got back looking really upset, anyway. Easy to jump to conclusions. What happened there?”

The mere mention of the University twisted Minerva’s stomach, and she felt the need to look over her shoulder to make sure Gharnef hadn’t appeared out of nowhere. She suppressed that urge and smiled slightly at Palla instead.

“Hardin snapped at Linde, but other than that, we were fine”, she said. “As for Caeda, though; I think the mage’s burial really got to her.”

Palla’s pushed her lips together into a thin line and looked to the side. “Not surprising. Word travels fast here; I’ve heard of it. And I’m partly glad I left before the ritual.”

Minerva arched her neck to catch Palla’s eye.

“Hey”, she whispered. “I’m sorry we got so caught up in our own tasks. I never took the chance to ask how you are feeling with all... this.”

Palla gave a one-sided shrug. “I’m at peace with the blood on my blade. Even though our victory led us nowhere, I fulfilled my own goals. I kept you safe, and for that purpose, I could’ve a killed a hundred more. I’m not sorry for trading their lives for yours and the League’s; but I _am_ sorry there was no other solution. Most of them were so scrawny, I think they’ve lived their entire life behind a desk.”

“They were dangerous, still.”

“Yes, they were. Like I said, I’m not sorry trading their lives for yours.”

Minerva raised her hand in an attempt to brush Palla’s cheek, but Palla stepped back.

“Oh, no”, she chuckled, some light returning to her eyes. “I just got my face scrubbed, and I’d rather not get bloody again. Seriously Minerva, you really ought to clean up. You look like a savage.”

Minerva smiled at her and rested her hands on her hips. “Some say that I am.”

“No need to encourage them”, Palla grinned back, before she bent down to dry off her hands on the rag she used to clean her armor. “Let’s go get you in order.”

\---

Water was harshly provisioned for as long as they stayed in the desert, and only more so the longer they remained. There were plenty of springs and rivers around the University oasis, but no one had wanted to go against Linde’s recommendations; she’d thoroughly explained that everything in this desert could be hexed against intruders. Most soldiers already jumped at every shadow; after that recommendation, they refused to eat anything dropped on the ground and were scared to breathe too deeply. Most stayed in the center of the camp, perhaps for some dream of safety. That meant that the bathing corner was nearly emptied of people when Minerva and Palla arrived. Catria, Caeda’s mercenaries and Julian were the only ones present.

Catria sat hunched over her breastplate with her back to the tub containing the bathing water, scrubbing her plate clean with a damp rag.

“Yikes”, was her greeting as she looked up into Minerva’s face. “That’s new. Should I be worried about the person on the receiving end, Commander?”

“No”, Minerva grinned and unbuckled her breastplate. “I’m just following the royal routine for Macedonan nobles – I’ve got to bathe once a day in sheep’s blood to keep the skin smooth and the mind clear. I thought you knew.”

She got a strange look form Julian sharpening his knives further away, but Catria only laughed.

“You’re so gross, Commander. And your sense of humor is the worst.”

“You laughed, though”, Palla teased, crouching beside Catria to pick up a polishing rag for Minerva.

Catria snorted. “Out of politeness only, I assure you. Don’t want to offend someone with blood dripping down their chin, you know.”

Minerva leaned over the closest tub, rubbed her face and throat in water, already stained red. With the water provisions, they had to share as much as possible. Minerva had no idea how many people’s grime was dissolved in that tub, and she’d rather not speculate on it. She longed for the opportunity to wash herself in the fresh, sparkling water of the south.

That was, she realized, _if_ they decided to march south again. She hadn’t thought much about it – her wish was to leave the cursed sands as soon as possible, but that might not be what the others had in mind. She splashed her face one last time, and took the polishing rag Palla reached out to her.

 

This desert had been nothing but a collection of things Minerva _didn’t want_. She didn’t want to stay behind and wait. She didn’t want to face the nonsense of magic. She didn’t want to share her thoughts with Maria. She didn’t even want to _think_ about council. Khadein steadily chafed at every royal leader’s composure, and Minerva was not an exception – especially not after the White Sage had looked her in the eye and mentioned her father’s name. She would almost certainly snap at any fellow leader bringing it up. She’d make things worse, she _knew_ she would.

She couldn’t just skip council, though. This was war, not petty schoolchildren blowing raspberries at each other. The illusion of control Minerva had gotten from her entanglement with the League was just that. An illusion. She couldn’t avoid the upcoming discomfort any more than she could avoid the cold sun rays out there in the open desert.

All she could do was look presentable, try to avoid splitting the ground in the council tent with Hauteclere and also preferably not yell at her friends. She pulled off her greaves and cuisses and hunched down beside Catria. Palla took her pauldrons, and they sat huddled together in a focused silence, the only sounds they shared were the squeaking of damp cloth being rubbed against armor plates.

If Minerva ignored the sand blowing up in their faces and the distant voices from thousands of soldiers and the smell of used bathwater, she could almost close her eyes and be back in the Macedonan stables. Return to a time where her greatest problem was finding bandit caverns.

\---

Marth’s tent was a mess.

The sand was everywhere; he hadn’t bothered to brush it away. He’d barely bothered with cleaning himself up since the battle; grains still dotted his hair from when Minerva had dived down with full force to defend him. But even so, his eyes sparked of determination, an uncommon contrast to Caeda whose expression was hollow. She sat closely beside Marth, discreetly holding onto his cloak. It didn’t seem right. Caeda was always one of conviction and smiles. Her voice was the only thing unchanged about her – it was as gentle as usual when she spoke.

“Prince Hardin and I have already settled some things”, she said with an eye on Hardin opposite her. “I will take the Dragonpike. No need to discuss that.”

Prince Hardin raised both his arms defensively. “And I will not object. My point was that we cannot trust the mages who were our enemies, but it is your life to throw away. Master Wendell may have your trust now, but I cannot ignore the mage’s motives to do us harm.”

Caeda’s jaw tensed. “If the Dragonpike is some sort of magical weapon meant to injure its wielder, my Pegasus will protect me. Though I doubt that it's a trap. We’ve been given a gift; an advantage. And we will use it. Or I, at least, will.”

No one voiced any disagreement to that, although prince Hardin clasped his hands perhaps a bit tighter than usual.

“Well then”, Hardin said, “No need to discuss that, as you said. I suppose we’d better move on.”

Marth nodded, and Nyna leaned forward with a humble clearing of her throat.

“So”, she began, “I understand from prince Hardin’s briefing that our attempt at regaining the Falchion still wasn’t a success.” She paused, as if waiting for them to object or come with optimistic counterpoints, but all she got was silence. “I’m sorry. But according to Hardin’s tale, our efforts were in a strange way still rewarded. The White Sage himself chose to engage in this war, an occasion unheard of ever since the First Dragon War. His claim to be prisoner in Macedon, and his promise to help us – that is the topic I’d like for us to consider at the moment.”

Maria swallowed at the mention of Macedon, but she didn’t say anything. She was obviously thinking deeply – but of what? Minerva should speak to her. She should. Soon.

“Exalted as this White Sage may be”, Prince Hardin said, his voice growing increasingly callous for each sentence, “He wants us to crawl into an old cave in Grust – sounds like a trap. This is King Michalis trying to trick us, and it won’t work.”

Maria swallowed again, her hands tense in her lap. Princess Nyna cast a careful look on Minerva and Maria, a look that made Minerva’s fingers dig into her own sleeves in a cramp-like grip.

“You’re... Macedonans.” Nyna’s face was as unanimated as usual, but there was hesitation in her voice. Perhaps she’d caught on to the meaning behind Minerva’s clenched jaws, but even if she had, it didn’t stop her from moving on with her question; “Can you not tell us anything about the White Sage?”

“Afraid not.” Minerva tried to suffocate the venom that crept at the edges in her voice. She could tolerate Nyna asking, since she hadn’t been present at the University, but Minerva wouldn’t accept a second question. Not from any of them. “My father _obviously_ knew, and perhaps he passed the secret on to Michalis – I really _don’t know_! If I did, would I not have told you already? Stop pestering me and Maria, _please_.”

It was not a polite ‘ _please_ ’; it landed heavily in the silence along with the rest of her words. Nyna’s eyes gleamed of a quiet hurt in her expressionless face, her breath stuck in her chest as if she’d wanted to speak further but stopped to reconsider. Instead, it was Linde that saved them from the crushing silence.

“I mentioned that the sage’s location is strictly secret”, Linde said, a look of solemn respect as she met Nyna’s gaze. “And he knows very well how to hide.”

“Still”, Hardin hummed. “I find it fascinating how a First General could be so clueless on the matter of such a powerful... resource.”

Minerva managed to refrain from giving any violent or loud retorts; all that escaped her was a low grunt.

 

It wasn’t the distrust from the people she now considered friends that hurt the most; it was the creeping feeling that in a way, Hardin was correct.

He accused her of being oblivious to her own kingdom, which was most certainly true. Had Minerva paid better attention, could she not have prevented Macedon’s involvement with Doluna? If she’d seen Michalis choosing captains, weeding out oppositions in court, recruiting willing criminals and plotting Macedon’s future... If she’d managed to stop him – what would have changed? Could she still have had a father, have Maria be spared years of suffering, have prevented some of the deaths among the thousands that had perished in the war?

Those were thoughts she always tried to choke down, but with all the silent disappointment in the air around her those thoughts ran wild.  _Look at the princess Minerva. So clueless. Stupid. Incompetent._

To avoid saying anything she’d regret, she stared into the ground.

 

“Peace, Hardin”, Marth attempted to cut through the thick silence that had frozen them over yet again. “We’re all shaken from a useless battle and cryptic advice, but we need to be considerate of each other. It is all we have.”

“Well spoken, sire.” The councillor Malledus had placed himself beside Maria, now that Caeda had taken his usual spot in the royal circle. “The question we should be discussing is whether or not we should follow up on what the White Sage said. Although more information would be desirable, we must base our choice on what we know at the moment.”

Caeda leaned forward a little, seeking eye contact with Minerva. Minerva straightened slightly to look back at her.

“In no way do I mean to pester you”, Caeda said. “But I’d like to hear this from you directly – do you believe that it is in _any way_ possible that this is a trap set by your brother?”

Minerva pressed her lips together to a thin line. The feeling of incompetence clawed at her chest, and she let it. She couldn’t escape it anymore; she could only acknowledge it and focus on more important tasks. She glanced back up on Caeda, her eyes narrowing.

She hadn’t exactly been able to predict Michalis’ traps in the past. She’d do best to expect the worst.

“Yes”, she finally said. “It could be.”

Prince Hardin let out a silent groan.

“If I may – speculating on my brother’s thoughts will only put us on a circular path.” To Minerva’s surprise, it was Maria that leaned forward to speak. “We need the Falchion, yes, but all we truly know is that challenging Gharnef with our current equipment is risky. Or as the White Sage said, ahem— _foolish_.”

“I’m not here for my militant advice”, Linde said, “but I do know magic and Maria’s words are sound. Aura magic kept Gharnef back, but the Temple of Thabes – where he said he awaited us – is a place many times more magical than the university is. There’s no telling what Gharnef can prepare for us there. Marching to Thabes is asking for death, regardless of what the White Sage said about him maybe wanting us alive. I don’t think I could hold him back if I faced him on his home grounds.”

“Blast it”, Caeda muttered. “So the Falchion really is as good as lost to us.”

“I hope my ancestors will give me peace”, Marth said. “It really is. I am deeply saddened to turn my back on the weapon that will be our salvation, but we have no other choice. I suggest we march back south again.”

Prince Hardin sat straighter at this, the conversation finally leaning in a direction he liked. The callous lines along his face softened, he even smiled – although the smile in question wasn’t particularly warm. “I agree, prince Marth. It is time we take down Grust. Nyna has already heard this from me, but you should all know – my brother’s intel carries word that Grust is planning to hit Aurelis within a month.”

“Grust, going on the offensive?” Maria rubbed the back of her neck anxiously, and glanced at Minerva. “But Palla and Catria have said that both Grust’s people and army are starving! How could they mobilize under those circumstances?”

“They are indeed struggling”, Hardin said, his cold smile now directed at the map. “But winter does not last forever. Spring is coming, and with it the first harvests. As soon as Grust is somewhat back on their feet, they will look for a way to quench the resistance. Starving or not, they are strong; they still have their Sable Order and grand knight elite. We cannot ignore them for much longer.”

Minerva resisted the urge to glare at him – that glare wouldn’t be because his proposition was bad, but because of the fact that his voice dampened her mood. She couldn’t wait to leave this godsforsaken tent—

“I hear you”, Marth said. “But I think Grust has to wait. There is something that must be done first. I have delayed it for far too long.”

His finger landed on Altea on the map. Most of Minerva’s sourness ran off her with the cold clarity that followed.

The small island of Altea was only a day’s sailing away from Gra. How it must have pained Marth to turn to march north for Khadein instead.

“I... see”, Prince Hardin said, his own understanding dawning on his face. “But my friend, what is the tactical value of freeing the Alteans, compared to striking Grust before they have more time to prepare for us?”

“My people suffering in my absence is a _valuable_ fact to consider”, Marth said through tight lips. “My sister stayed back to allow me to escape, I would not be alive this day if it weren’t for her.”

His stance was relaxed, but there was no tolerating opposition in the way he met Hardin’s gaze.

“I’ve lived through years of guesswork and unease”, he continued, “The intel from your brother troubles me, surely, but _my_ intel for _Altea_ consists of nothing but villagers’ gossip of unspeakable horrors, and I openly admit that that troubles me more. I cannot stand by anymore. I have the power to stop my people’s torment, to repay everyone who has sacrificed for my sake. This last battle only fueled my will. I do not regret attempting to take the Falchion back, but now I will not wait a moment longer. I say we march to Altea.”

Prince Hardin met Marth’s hard gaze fearlessly. “I understand your sentiment, trust me – but you cannot deny that it would be a detour – a detour that could cost us our final victory.”

Minerva wondered if Marth would finally play his _I am the supreme commander of this army, do as I say_ -card, but he didn’t.

“Perhaps you are right”, Marth said calmly, eyes not budging. “But my mind is set. Now please speak yours, my friends.”

Caeda was quick to answer. “I am in favor of marching to Altea, sire.”

Maria’s eyes darted back and forth between Marth and Hardin before she tipped her head toward Caeda.

“Chafing at Doluna’s superiority is what has led us to victory before”, Maria said. “A free Altea will be yet another nail in the Emperor’s eye. I say we go there, too.”

Nyna nodded. “It does not matter much which road we take. I’m in favor.”

Minerva had barely had time to form an opinion of her own, and when Maria’s eyes turned to her, Minerva’s mind froze. She swallowed her instinctive response – that she didn’t care as long as they left Khadein – and leaned back instead.

Given the choice, Minerva would rather liberate than conquer, but the memory of Palla’s sobbing voice out in the freezing night returned to her like a chill through her chest.

 _Est_. The chill inside her spread into her arms and sent an ache all the way down to her elbows. With all this talk of Grust, it was a wonder it hadn’t rattled Minerva sooner.

Est was still in Grust, wasn't she? She’d been alone for more than a month, and that thought alone had the chill spread to Minerva’s lungs, inhibiting her breaths.  _Est had to be in Grust. Alive._ She was nothing if not stubborn.

It wouldn’t really matter what Minerva said, the majority vote was already cast; though if Minerva objected to Marth now… She could plant the seed of an idea. It was possible to begin planning the formation of a second force, a force breaking free of the Altean march to aim for Grust instead.

Minerva pushed that idea aside almost as soon as it sprung up. No, the League’s numbers were weak enough as it was.

Maria was still looking right at Minerva. Her hair was growing longer again, a wild halo around her face with her forelocks hiding most of the dark look in her eye. A dark look that told her that Maria _knew_ , she knew _exactly_ what choosing Marth’s way over Hardin’s might mean for Est.

Minerva bent her head. Maria had faith in her old friend; or she was at least not going to let her worry get in the way of what she thought was best. Minerva should do the same; though she couldn’t let go of the thought that she was letting Palla down.

“Altea was the first to fall”, Minerva said without looking up. “And its people do not deserve to wait to be the last to be freed. We save the worst, Grust and Macedon, for last.”

She regretted her words, and at the same time, she was relieved. She didn’t quite understand how those feelings could even go together.

“I suppose I cannot convince you otherwise”, Prince Hardin finally yielded. “And I cannot deny the soundness of this plan, whether I think it is the most optimal or not. However, I recommend we use our week of marching to ponder our White Sage-problem further.”

“I eagerly await that discussion when the time comes”, Marth smiled. “All right then. Let’s declare this council over for the time being. Go, and enjoy what peace you can. Soon, we shall battle once more.”


	58. Altean Siege

The inside of the Altean castle was a modest thing. Bare stone walls, raided rooms and humble ruins from collapsed ceilings. Of course, it wouldn’t be a complete castle without hallways that were narrow as needle points.

Titania slid across the stone floor like a lizard with Minerva hunched in the saddle to not hit her head into the ceiling.  
More than once, Minerva had considered the thought of dismounting in order to fight on her own, but she’d never gone through with it. Her options for manoeuvring were certainly limited, but her enemies struggled with the same problem. So far, none of them had been able to reach Minerva before Titania squashed them. Hauteclere was almost excessive. Almost.

 

Minerva’s current mission was to clear out the west wing. Alongside her were Maria and Cain, and a whole squad of others she’d forgotten the names of.

Before this, Minerva had cleaned out the castle perimeter from the skies, the Whitewings and Caeda drilling through the outer defenses. They’d all managed without greater injuries, but as Minerva almost hit her head for the tenth time, she felt how _drained_ she was.

She’d seen nothing but blood and heard nothing but cries of pain since morning, and she had no idea when it’d stop. Probably not anytime soon. The west wing was a maze of collapses and small side corridors and stairways where the enemy could hide. Minerva cleared the hallways with her best efforts, but even the nooks and crannies she’d cleaned out revealed two more _just_ as she turned her back. They crawled out from the dark stairs, charged at her from behind piles of collapsed walls.

Titania was quick to aim her jaws for most of the surprise attackers. The ones Titania couldn’t reach was pushed back by Hauteclere – not necessarily killed, with so little room there wasn’t enough for Minerva to land proper blows – and it was enough for the others in her squad to pluck them off.

Minerva had just gotten used to the fact that she once again faced proper _brawlers_ ; none of that nonsense magic. The occasional mage was rare, and Minerva had not seen any of them in the entire west wing so far. She’d just had enough time to dare to feel grateful for it – before a blast of lightning cracked past right in front of her.

The lightning was not Maria’s pure blue, but a flash of red. Minerva turned to face her opponent in one of the small side corridors, but something wasn’t right. The room was tipped to the side, the saddle below her tipping with it. It took her less than a breath to realize that Titania had reared violently and hit into the ceiling – and the combined forces of Titania’s panic and the gravitational pull had Minerva hanging like a helpless ragdoll. Minerva dropped her hold on Hauteclere to be able to right herself, but the second blast of lighting came right at her. She twisted in the saddle, off balance again. The ceiling above her steamed red from the blast that had barely slipped past her.

The mage wasn’t fool enough to aim for Titania; they went straight for Minerva’s head. And they wouldn’t miss a third time. Minerva ducked and scrambled for the final throwing axe in her belt. She’d get herself upright and throw the axe as soon as she got a visual; all she needed was a push back into position. She put her arm out to get support from the lintel above a stairway beside her.

 

With her inner battle fire focusing her thoughts, Minerva didn’t feel any fear when the lintel gave way under her hand.  
She was just as cold as when she’d stood face to face with Gharnef, accepting her fate – though now she felt a bit more surprise and a _lot_ more pain.

The throwing axe clinked into the steps of the stairs, the impact sending it flying out of Minerva’s control. It cut her chin before it tumbled down alongside her.

She’d barely had time to draw a breath before she was at the bottom of the stairs, head spinning and body aching under dented armor.

She wheezed, opening her eyes. Her gaze was met by a small collection of gravel and dust. Her nose to the wall, metallic taste in her mouth. She groaned and pushed away from the wall, managed to crawl up into half sitting. She scanned the floor best she could for her throwing axe, but with her vision double, she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. The sounds of battle from above seemed surreal to her, but one voice cut through her daze.

“Cain, no, we can’t leave, Minerva, she’s down there—“

The rest of Maria’s sentence was cut short by Titania, roaring in pain. Minerva hissed through her teeth and tried to get up, but every part of her cried in objection.

There was no way Cain and Maria could take on the enemies still at large if they went after Minerva – the squad couldn’t afford the split. Minerva wasn’t going to let them endanger their lives.

“Maria, _leave_!” Her voice rumbled between the stone walls and Titania let out a bloodcurdling roar in response.

 _Confused._  
_Angry._  
_Scared._

“Titania!” Minerva shouted back at her. “ _Go!_ ”

Titania definitely understood such simple vocal commands; the question was if she’d obey. To Minerva’s short-lived relief, she did. The shadow of Titania’s reptilian figure disappeared from the entrance to the stairs, her thumping steps revealing a quick retreat, her bloodcurdling cry revealing her unwillingness to do so.

Two other shadows took Titania’s place; two humans, their blades gleaming in the dusky light, leaving no doubts of their murderous intent.

Minerva stood on shaky legs. Her right arm seared when she tried to support herself against the wall, and she pushed it toward her chest, angrily blinking away tears. She recognized the feeling of a broken bone all too well.

She had no more time to search for her throwing axe. She ran.

_This isn’t where I die._

As a sky knight, she was more lightly armored than her paladin enemies, and slightly faster. It wouldn’t give her an advantage for long – she had to find a place to hide. She hugged her broken arm close to her body, nearly tripping over her feet as she hurried down the unknown hallway. It was just as barren as the rest of the castle. It was only a matter of time before she got to another collapsed dead end, and her pursuers would catch up – the clatter of their boots much too close for her comfort.

A door appeared to the side of her, and she tackled it as hard as she could.

_This isn’t where I die!_

All around her, she saw the glint of metal. For the duration of a heartbeat, she thought the paladins had caught up to her. But the glinting metal was still.

A weapons chamber. One that was almost cleared entirely of anything powerful or valuable, but it still had some sad looking weapons scattered along the walls.

Minerva had no time to be picky.

 

Her ten-year-old self reached out with her left arm, finding the hilt of a mace. Her ten-year-old self swung it with raw, barbaric grace and uttered a war cry that made the air tremble.

Her twenty-three-year-old self killed.

 

Her entire body shook when the mace hit. The side of her opponent’s helmet buckled under the blow, and the neck could not withstand the force. Such a blow was enough to crush into a log.

Minerva felt like every muscle in her left arm had snapped, but she couldn’t afford to care.  
Blood swishing in her ears, she let the mace dance around her head with the help of the momentum of her first strike. Once the swing of a mace had begun, there was no use in trying to stop it.

She struck her second opponent in the throat from the left side, the same time as his sword struck into her from the right. He’d made a sloppy blow, caught unprepared by Minerva’s assault. It hit her in her torso, blade bouncing off her breastplate. The attack was enough to knock her to the side and into the lining of the doorway, with her broken arm taking the fall. She cried out from the pain that tore through her, but _she_ was the one still standing. The second paladin had a shattered jaw, and a bruise had spread over the entire left side of his throat. He wasn’t breathing.

She knelt, breathing deeply. She could no longer hold on to the hilt of the mace; her left shoulder burning in pain, feeling completely out of place. She scrambled a simple throwing knife into her belt with her painful left arm, and then with her dislocated, sore body, she stumbled up the stairs again.

She wasn’t sure what she’d meet on the other end. The battle continued in all corners of the castle, Minerva had lost all direction and just waddled along. Maybe it was better if she kept hiding, but she couldn’t stand that thought – she had to find Maria, Titania, anyone, _anything_.

As she exited the stairs and returned to the hallway where she’d fallen off Titania, the corridor was quiet, save for the valiant, heavy breaths of a friend.

“Palla”, Minerva croaked, her body relaxing in relief. “You’re unharmed.”

Palla’s shamrock hair hung in stripes, glued to cheeks freckled by blood. Her blade dug into the chest of a soldier on the floor. Red stained the ochre of Doluna under the sword’s tip.

Palla turned around with a jolt, pulling the sword with her in a graceful arc; ready to face another opponent. Minerva recognized that stance too well, and she couldn’t help smiling even though it hurt. Palla’s eyes met hers, and the cold iron in her gaze shifted into wide surprise.

“Oh merciful, divine dragons!” Palla let go of the sword and practically threw herself into Minerva’s arms. “Your entire squad retreated with dozens of soldiers on their heels, Maria told me what happened, I saw Titania without you and I came as fast as I could, but you weren’t here, I could’ve—“

She buried her face in Minerva’s dislocated shoulder. Pain shot through Minerva like the twist of a knife, but she didn’t back away. She placed her cheek against Palla’s in an attempt to return the hug without moving her arms.

“Is it over?” Minerva whispered. “Is everyone alright?”

“ _No_ to the first, _yes_ to the second”, Palla sighed and pulled back. “Although I can’t speak for you, you seem to be in quite the rough spot.”

“No kidding. I did my best to survive, and I hope I succeeded.”

Palla stroked some of the blood away from Minerva’s chin, not smiling at her tired joke. “Let’s go to the others. We’re meeting up before we break through to the great throne chamber. When Catria and Frey are done scouting the west wing, we’re going for this Morzas.”

 _Morzas_ was a familiar name from Minerva’s time with the Dolunans, a name the inhabitants of Altean villages they’d passed during their march whispered in hushed, trembling voices. A Great General manakete, just as Khozen had been. A tyrant in his own right. Minerva wasn’t looking forward to facing him, especially not in her current state, but she had no choice. Staying behind was far worse.

Minerva did a quick scan of the floor. No sign of Hauteclare. Not that she could wield it with her injuries, but she felt so vulnerable without the ringing song of death echoing in her bones. She limped on beside Palla, prayed she wouldn’t find Hauteclere in the hands of an enemy, compatible with its magic just as she was – but all they passed was ruins and bodies crushed between a wyvern’s jaws. They reached the silent buzz of the grand hall, where the entire League had formed a huddled, disorganized crowd.

“ _Sister_!” Maria dashed toward her and threw one clumsy arm around Minerva’s waist. “Thank goodness— Oh gods you’re a _mess_ – I should have gone after you!”

“Thanks for not doing that.” Minerva’s voice was tight from Maria’s arm pressing at her bruises. “It got a bit scary.”

“A _bit_!” Maria backed away, pinching Minerva’s right arm and pulling at her left eyelid. “Talk about an understatement! Seriously!” She sighed and scrambled for her mending staff in her belt. “Just hold still.”

The Earth magic felt like a gentle kiss on Minerva’s sores, the swelling retreating from her face. Then, without warning, Maria put the mending staff back in her belt and took hold of Minerva’s upper right arm and her wrist, and pulled. Minerva reined back at the nauseating _clack_ from her bones.

“Stop squirming, please”, Maria said through her teeth, still pulling hard at Minerva’s wrist. Earth magic vibrated around her.

“I’m not _squirming_.”

“Right.” Maria let go and moved on to Minerva’s left shoulder. “Just flex your elbow and relax.”

Minerva opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, Maria had put her shoulder back in place with another _clack_.

“Oh”, Minerva croaked, stars dancing in front of her eyes. “Nice of you to warn me.”

“Don’t sass your healer”, Maria smiled and patted her hand. Minerva could only make a face, leaning back on Palla for support. Palla caught her, gentle arms behind her back.

“You should sit back when we breach the throne room”, Maria continued, more seriously. Minerva shook her head and tested the movement in her arms.

“I’m all right, really.” She attempted a confident smile, but her face still felt too swollen. “Just a bit sore, nothing big. We got a dragon to kill.”

“Speaking of dragon-killing, Wyvern Princess”, a voice called down to her. “You’ll need this.”

Minerva looked to her right. Cain had ridden to a stop beside them, Hauteclere resting over his knees. The knight was matching her in everything but the eyes – his hair a maroon red and armor a glorious crimson. Maria’s eyes lit up at the sight of him, something that warmed even Minerva’s exhausted heart.

Cain lifted the hilt of Hauteclare and tipped it gently toward Minerva. “That’s a bloody heavy axe, your highness”, he smiled. “You could hoist my horse over your head from swinging that around all day.”

“Best to spare your horse the fright”, Minerva smiled back, stifling her laughter. “Thank you for keeping it safe, Cain.”

Her hands clasped the familiar hilt of Hauteclere, the feather-light blade once again singing inside her head.

She got no more time to thank him before Titania thumped toward her with a loud bugle, skidding to a stop and almost tipping Minerva over with her affectionate nuzzle.

“Easy”, Minerva laughed. “I just got pieced together again, don’t break me.”

Titania sniffed her hair, pleased growls escaping from deep within her chest. Minerva turned to Palla, reached out her hand.

Palla took it with a sigh. “There’s no convincing you to stay behind?”

Minerva only smiled and shook her head. Palla let out a quiet scoff, but pulled her closer, embracing her. Her lips were right by her ear, her voice a quiet murmur that despite the hushed tone still carried weight like only Palla’s promises could.

“Then let’s kill this dragon.”

\---

The buzz from hundreds of waiting voices turned to silence. The grand hall didn’t leave much room for the squads that returned to get into formation, but everyone was familiar with the orders given to them before the siege, and after slow, tenacious rearrangements they’d all gotten in line.

Palla, Catria and Caeda sat with backs straight surrounding Marth, right by the gate into the throne room. At their sides were Marth’s three paladins, Minerva right behind. She was back on Titania, though her entire body still complained.

 _It’s soon over_ , she thought, closing her focus on Palla’s sure stance. She comforted herself with the thought of sleeping in her arms, her aching body laid to rest. _Soon_.  
Marth raised his sword to get everyone’s attention. “We’re good to go! Everyone, follow—“  
He didn’t get any further.

A horrendous sound echoed between the castle walls, toppling everyone in the room. Minerva folded herself double and covered her ears while Titania pressed herself toward the ground with a wail. Minerva looked around in panic, trying to see where the sound came from, just as the rumble began to form words.

“ _Wretched Altean whelp, stumbling home to the slaughter... What fool throws away a life already so preciously bought? Your mother, Liza, is dead; I killed her myself. Your sister, Elice, lives only because Gharnef had use for her_.”

Marth had dropped his sword. He was doubled over with hands pressed over his ears, tears of rage forming in his eyes.

“ _So what will become of you, little prince? Will you run for your life a second time? Or will you stay this time to die?_ ”

Minerva’s heart hammered in her chest, and she watched helplessly as Marth knelt on the ground, folding in on himself even further. The voice could belong to none other than the manakete Morzas, his voice amplified by a hundred. Minerva’s father had used similar magic when speaking at public festivals, so, so long ago.

“ _Emperor Medeus would not put me on this throne if he thought you could remove me from it. Know this, and despair._ ”

The sound died away, and everyone straightened and looked around with pale faces. Whatever battle spirit that had filled them before was now drained. Even Minerva felt she’d rather turn tail and run.

“Don’t heed his words”, Caeda cried out and rode to Marth’s side. She extended a hand and pulled Marth up from his slumped stance. “That’s the voice of a frightened manakete. He’s trying to throw us off, because he’s _seen_ what we can do. He’s not the first manakete who believed he was invincible, and got proven wrong.”

Marth pressed his fingers into his eyes and drew a deep breath.

“Right. Yes. You’re right, Caeda.” He picked up his sword again, and drew another deep breath, putting on a mask similar to Minerva’s old facade – though the way Marth wore it, it wasn’t one of indifference. Rather, it burned of fierce compassion.

His gaze swept over them all, before he raised his sword again. “As I said – _follow me_ and let’s end Morzas reign of terror over my land!”

 

That was the cue for Linde, who blasted through the gate with her fire. Two sages stood right behind the gate and began their assault with powerful thunder magic, but that was an assault that the League had been ready for. Palla, Caeda and Catria countered the sages without much grief, while Cain and Abel galloped in quicker than lightning to end the two snipers hiding behind the pillars before they could harm the pegasi.

The room was cleared in an instant. All that was left was the figure on the throne, a sight that caused Minerva’s belly to churn nervously. His skin was an unnatural blue, and he had to be much larger than Khozen. When he stretched the tips of his wings touched the opposite walls.

“ _Witless human_!” Morzas voice rumbled once again, but this time, Marth stood firm, back straight. “ _None defy a mage-dragon and live to speak of it!_ ”

Marth pointed his rapier at the dragon. “Times are changing.” Marth didn’t shout, and yet Minerva was certain all could hear him. “I will live. You will not. You shall not defile my kingdom a moment longer.”

The dragon merely laughed. Before their eyes, he enclosed himself in a shimmer, invisible forces pulling at his limbs and wings. Within moments, the human shape had taken on the body of a dragon great enough to fill the entire hall, scales like the ocean reflecting light on the walls.

Minerva hugged the reins.

She could recall the fight with Khozen in perfect detail. She’d thought she’d be able to apply those memories to this battle – but Morzas was different in so many ways. He was larger, his scales covered him in multiple layers – there were even transparent scales over his eyes. He was thinner, like a giant slithering snake rather than an unholy monster like Khozen. How would she fight this?

“We don’t fear you!” Caeda shouted and did one of her glorious dashes, dragon pike in hand. She trusted her mount, and they got a hit before the dragon had time to react. The dragon pike crashed through the transparent scales and burrowed into his eye.

 _That works_ , Minerva thought. She pulled at the reins and was about to take flight when Morzas engaged with his counterattack. In a roar of rage, he cast a line of blue fire from his jaws aiming for the gate. The beam of flames cracked pillars and floor tiles alike, but it never reached the great gate. Lena had placed herself in the middle of the opening, quenching the flames with one of her blizzards. Three pegasi were up and circling around the dragon’s head, twisting away from the rest of the fiery blast.

After Caeda’s brave assault, the remaining fear in the Archanean League evaporated. They began their charge. Minerva took to the air. She scrapped the half-done idea she’d had of being the sole distraction of the dragon’s attention, since the three pegasi were doing well on that front – she’d make sure those wings left the sides and rear open for the violent mob of soldiers.

 

The humans looked so small beside such a beast, but every swing dented and cracked the dragon’s scales, and Morzas couldn’t attack them all. Every time he tried to crush people under his feet, Lena was there to freeze his joints. Every time he tried to swipe the rear away with his tail, the cavalry galloped out of the way and let the heavily armored knights take the blow. Every time he readied himself to cast his fire, Pegasus knights dashed in and cut him off with a hit from below the jaw or another stab into his eye socket.

Morzas’ roar of rage had turned into one of fear, but dragons were of a tenacious sort. Despite his grave wounds Morzas managed to get a hit on one of the pegasi around his head. The creature whinnied in fear, its mount shooting out of the saddle and through the air. Minerva’s heart almost stopped in horror, her cry becoming one with Palla’s.

“ _No_ —“

“Catria!”

Catria landed on Morzas neck, and slid down until she could get a hold of one of his neck spikes.

“Gah”, Minerva heard her shout. She seemed dazed, but fine – she pulled out one of her javelins from her stash on the back, and her face was twisted in a battle fire Minerva had rarely seen in her.

“I’m so _done with dragons_!” Catria found a spot clear of scales and stabbed, every muscle of her body digging the short spear inside the neck of the dragon.

Morzas’ roar died away. His tail went flaccid, his back arched until he hit the ceiling – then, he crashed to the floor. Catria twisted the spear deeper, and the monster twitched and fell on the side. The League cavalry on his flanks narrowly escaped being crushed, while Catria tumbled onto the floor, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Minerva dived down to the edge of the dust haze, about to dismount and run in to get her, but Catria’s Pegasus was quicker, as it trotted in with a nervous neigh. The dust settled, and Catria’s shape took form as she put her arm over her Pegasus’ mane, waving a quick ‘ _I am fine_ ’, then another just for good measure. Behind her, Morzas body shrunk down and reverted back into his more human shape, although that shape was almost like one great open wound.

He lay unmoving, but still breathing enough to be able to speak.

“ _I s... I say..._ ” he gasped, his voice still amplified. Marth stepped closer, and half the force – including Minerva – slipped closer in order to surround him in a protective circle.

“I say... impressive”, the manakete croaked, no more energy to make his voice intimidating. “But... you lack the power... to defeat Medeus...” A final weak laugh escaped the manakete. “Ah, yes... Only... oblivion... awaits you... little princeling...”

Marth said nothing as he put both his hands around the hilt of his rapier and stabbed it downward.

One final kill, liberating the entire island of Altea.

 

Caeda had dismounted and the crowd around Marth parted to make room for her. Her tied back hair was stiffened by blood and she looked ready to topple over, yet she slid her arm behind Marth’s shoulders, kept him upright. Ignoring her exhaustion.

Maria had pushed through to the front, but all she did was search for eye-contact with Minerva and give her an affirmative nod before she once again slid back into the crowd in her search for the most gravely injured. Minerva wasn’t sure if it was to reassure herself or Minerva, but it was reassuring all the same. It stilled her heartbeat somewhat, and it calmed her even further to see Catria limping toward her with a crooked smile on her lips.

Minerva leaned down from Titania to embrace her. “Don’t scare us like that”, she whispered.

Catria patted her on the back before she broke free and stretched.

“Gods, if I ever have children”, she said with a grin, “they will _never_ hear the end of this.”

Minerva rearranged herself so she sat on the side, facing Catria with a similar grin. “Why stop at children? Tell everyone until they’re sick of you and then tell them _again_. That was amazing.”

Palla swept down beside them and rustled Catria’s hair in greeting. “Well, little sister. Do that again and I’ll have Minerva kick you off the squad.”

Minerva was certain she was teasing, but her voice was dead serious. Catria only laughed and elbowed Palla’s calf.

“Right! Commander would never!” She then glanced up on Minerva, playful uncertainty on her face. “Would she?”

Minerva crossed her arms and drummed with her fingers on her armor plates. “How could I say no to Palla?”

Catria made a face. “Well, you’d be missing my amazing dragon-killing moves, so, your loss.” Her expression changed into a mellow frown, and she looked to the side. “Ah, damn. Sounds like something Est would say, huh. I wish she’d been here to see it.”

The mere mention of Est had Palla’s shoulders slump, and Minerva wished she could lead her out of this place reeking of dragon-flames and fear, but with such a crowd there was little hope for that to happen.

Although said crowd had begun to split again, in a similar manner as they had for Caeda, this time with more silent awe in the air.

Princess Nyna looked twice as regal from her usual standard. She threaded along the red carpet toward Marth and in contrast to the filthy, bloodstained and exhausted soldiers bowing their heads, she was ethereal. A clean and proud icon weaving her way forward, crown of the Archanean empress resting on her head.

“Marth”, her voice echoed over the quiet chamber. “Oh, Marth— Any word? Have you found your family?”

As always, Nyna had stayed behind, but she must have been closer to the battle this time, to have gotten to the throne room so quickly. But it seemed like she’d been spared the rumbling voice of Morzas, otherwise she wouldn’t have needed to ask.

Marth turned around to face her, his arm resting on Caeda’s. The look of pain was apparent on his face, now. No sound was uttered from the League, as no one wanted to disturb his grief.

“My sister was taken away by Gharnef”, Marth managed to say. “And my mother is... She is dead. Slain... By... by _this_.”

Nyna couldn’t possibly have misunderstood what he meant. Her perfect face was stunned as she looked upon the dead manakete, and then back to the prince. “Marth, I am truly sorry...”

Marth didn’t seem to hear her. Now that the immediate danger was gone, he was retreating into himself, his eyes unfocused just like after his killing of King Jiol.

“I thought there would be something... some part of my old life I would be coming back to.” Marth whispered so quietly only the ones standing closest to him could possibly hear it. “I fought so hard...”

Caeda put her arm around his shoulders.

“You fought wonderfully”, Caeda whispered back. Nothing more. What else was there that anyone could say?

The sound of Caeda’s voice seemed to wake Marth from his distant state, and he looked up and around him. He seemed so lost, almost surprised to see the League still there. And Minerva only stared back when his gaze drifted by hers. Being forced to be public in great grief was one of the worst feelings in the world; she knew it firsthand, and she knew that the prince probably wished for nothing other than to be alone right then. Was Minerva the only one that saw it? Why did she just sit like the rest, doing nothing about it? She should urge her Whitewings to leave, and perhaps many others would follow, though that might be rude – she avoided courts for this very reason, no answer was _ever_ the right one—

“Friends”, Marth finally said, interrupting Minerva’s thoughts. “I thank you. For your courage, and your trust in me. You’ve fought valiantly, and there will never come a day when my heart isn’t grateful to all of you.”

The air changed, as if the breath every single soldier had been holding was let out in relief. Minerva spotted Darros as he patted Merric between his shoulder blades, slamming the air out of him, and she saw prince Hardin clasp the shoulder of his closest bow-paladin with a sad smile. Minerva felt her own tense jaws relax. Marth’s words were the same as a dismissal, she should be able to leave now—

“Sire, might I have a moment?” Malledus walked hurriedly through the throne room and stopped beside Nyna, visibly out of breath.

Marth smiled weakly at his councillor. “All the moments you want, Malledus. What is it?”

Malledus wiped his hairless head with a piece of his sage’s garb. “Your people have gathered outside the castle”, he began. “They are overjoyed to be free again, sire, and would like very much to see their prince.”

Marth stood straighter. “All right then. I’ll go at once.”

“Marth...” Nyna held up a hand. “Perhaps you should let that wait, just until you are able to share their joy with them. We could send someone in your stead—“

Marth shook his head and ducked free of Caeda’s support.

“No, that won’t do”, he said. “Today is a momentous day for my kingdom and my people. I must celebrate with them now, not later. Anything else would be a disservice to those who died to save Altea.“ He breathed deeply again, speaking the last sentence like a dark sort of nursery rhyme. “I am a prince before I am a son or a brother.”

He walked through the alley of soldiers that had formed to make way for Nyna, placing a hand on Malledus’ shoulder as he passed.

“Come, Malledus. Let us greet my people.”

\---

Thus Altea was liberated.

Minerva was among the group unwilling to leave Marth unattended. Caeda had placed herself right by the entrance to the castle balcony lips in a thin line, her eyes glinting of frustration but not looking away from Marth. Minerva stood with Maria and Palla beside her, Catria leaning on her spear like a walking staff right behind Caeda, all of them watching as Marth stepped out to greet the crowd.

People had flocked beneath the castle walls, all of them Alteans who’d suffered under Morzas’ rule ever since King Cornelius’ murder. No doubt this was one of the happiest days of their life, and when their prince appeared up above, he was met by a thunderous cheer. His stark blue cloak and hair whipped in the wind, his circlet glinting in the sun.  
The circlet that his sister had given him.

Minerva bit the inside of her cheek. How could victory feel so terribly out of place, every time? How could the war manage to ruin everything – even this?

“He’s really brave, don’t you think?” Catria said, a melancholic tone in her voice. Her eyes were fixed on the waving figure. “His family has been torn apart, but he keeps the grief hidden.”

 _We would know how that feels, wouldn’t we_ , Minerva agreed, but she didn’t speak aloud. The bitter taste in her mouth didn’t blend well with the chants of joy from below.

“Glory to Marth, our prince of light!”

At some point, Minerva’s feet grew cold.

“Glory to our star and savior!”

Minerva felt Palla’s hand on her forearm, and Maria’s hand had caught hers.

“Macedon won’t cheer for us like that when we return”, Maria said quietly.

Minerva closed her eyes. “No”, she whispered back. “They won’t.”

Maria obviously understood their situation – Minerva felt the words she’d waited to say form in the back of her mind, awaiting the command to speak.  _Maria... We have to talk about Michalis._

Minerva never opened her mouth, she only hugged Maria’s hand tighter. This wasn’t the time or place.

The cheers were a low rumble, moved ripples of hollering voices from the front to back when Marth raised his rapier over his head.

The cold spread inside Minerva, clawed into her lower spine. She remembered Lena’s words to her. There was hope for Macedon, but what has been done can only be undone by another claim to the throne.

But that road to hope was riddled with treason and death. There was no Fearless Protector in this matter, only a tired Dragoon without a home.

Her thoughts mocked her, again and again.

 _Glory to our star and savior_.


	59. Mercurius

Est pushed her back against the wall, her heart hammering.  
This was it.  
_This was it._

She’d spent weeks and weeks waiting around. She’d changed into her old armor (the Grustian coat burned pretty well and warmed nicely too), her brown cloak covering the Macedondan insignia on her chest. She’d travelled from village to village, since she wasn’t stupid enough to stay in one place – she’d even gone so far as to leave the priory she’d saved from a couple of mean and smelly soldiers. That priory had cute boys her age _and_ they’d been generous with sharing their food and fireplace _and_ they had a _bathing chamber_...

The mere thought had her let out a sigh. She knew she’d done the right choice though, since right after she’d left the priory and diverted from the main road, the very _Sable Order_ had ridden past. She’d caught a glance of them all, but the only one she really remembered was their leader. Remarkably beautiful with majestetic, blonde curls, clad entirely in black and with a jewelled spear over his back, that shone like a dim lantern. That man basically _screamed_ importance.

The leader had to be Grust’s First General. Est knew his name – _Camus_. The spear over his back had to be another one of Archanea’s stolen treasures, the lance Gradvius. Est had admired sketches of the real thing ever since she was a kid, and seeing it in person left her with no doubts. She had to quench her jealousy – _she’d_ wanted to hold that lance for half of her lifetime, and here it was right in front of her. The gods had a weird sense of humor.

She’d be a fool to try and steal _that_ , and besides, her mission was for another Archanean treasure. And she thought that _maybe_ , if she retraced the steps of the First General himself, she might finally find its hiding place.

 

It all lead to here, the fortress she’d _so_ easily infiltrated. Est could be sneaky when she wanted to, even though she was still limping from her injury at Aurelis castle.

Following up on her hunch turned out to be the right thing to do. As she glanced around the corner, she saw the hilt of the jewelled sword – it matched Gradvius in everything but the shape, it _had_ to be Mercurius.

Est held her breath and glanced around the corner again.

There were soldiers inside the room. Just talking. Boring talk, about the League and Doluna. Est couldn’t care less. She’d just get the sword and then... What?  
She’d just wanted to do something dangerous.  
To prove Palla wrong, for one thing.  
And to do something _good_. She was tired of dancing to Doluna’s stupid fiddle. Maria was dead anyway.  
They’d pay for that, all of them. She’d show them the might of a Whitewing.

“The Leauge is coming for Grust”, one of the soldiers growled. Est could hear the squeaking of his gauntlet as he closed his fist. “And we need to get a hold of our deserters – hundreds have disappeared, and General Camus _demands_ that we find them and put an end to them; but we can’t afford flying spies, with the fliers themselves leaving and dying like useless geese in Gra. And to top it off there's rumours that some fliers willingly joined the League, and killed our _entire_ Olbern Pegasus Order.”

 _It wasn’t that big, exactly_ , Est scoffed. But then she stopped to think. The entire Olbern Pegasus Order? That meant... Palla and Catria had been in the crossfire? Est gulped down that thought, but it reemerged like a dark, slimy creature from beneath the surface.

No, no, they were fine. Sure, Palla had been frustrating, to say the least, but she wouldn’t let herself be killed by some second-rate deserters, right? And Catria would never be surprised by such a cheap move!

Est gulped again. They couldn’t just pointlessly _die_. Not them too!

“Sided with the Crimson Dragoon”, the same soldier inside the room continued with a grunt. “Can’t believe I allowed my daughter to say she wanted to become like her!”

“You didn’t know, sire.”

“None of us did, damn you! I’m thinking of learning how to shoot a bow. It would be a great pleasure to shoot her down, along with the other traitors.”

Est’s eyes widened. She entered the room, lance ready.

“Crimson Dragoon, you said? Could you evaluate on that?”

Both soldiers jumped in their seats, scrambling for their swords.

“ _Intrud_ —“ one of them began, but Est interrupted him by punching her lance through both of their throats in one stab.

“Sorryy”, she said. “You didn’t have to yell, you know.”

She retracted he lance, both soldiers falling dead.

 

She wasn’t getting any more information out of them, but she’d heard what she needed to. The Commander was _alive_! Then Palla and Catria – surely they must have been the ones who joined her!

Est squealed and hugged her lance. Now all she had to do was find the League, and how hard could that be? They were all anyone ever talked about, nowadays. They were heroes, _legends_ – and, they had her sisters. For all Est’s convincing that she really liked being on her own, she actually missed them – she’d once again get to hear that special way Palla said ‘ _good morning potato pie_ ’ and see that special smile-and-shake-of-the-head Catria did when Est retold her battle stories, and once again get to follow someone as amazing as the Commander.

Est couldn’t help bouncing on her toes as she pulled Mercurius from one of the dead soldiers – his uniform suggested he must have been a captain.  
Terrible at his job, really.

Scattered sounds of running steps echoed in the hallways of the fortress. Est heard how soldiers scrambled in the hallways of the fortress. The captain’s shout had rallied them, which was unfortunate, but they couldn’t _all_ be terrible at their jobs.

Well. No time for anything fancy. Est hung the sheathed sword in the straps she used to hold her lance over her back.

Running wasn’t an option for her, so she walked, albeit as briskly as her limp allowed. Her right leg couldn’t extend as far as the left, the muscle irreversibly damaged from the spear of the Flying Demon.

Nothing too bad, though. Est leaned on her lance, humming quietly as she walked. It didn’t matter. No one would come near her. Not when there was a possibility for her to see Commander and her sisters again. And, Est realized, perhaps _Maria_ would be there as well?

Too much to hope for, but she couldn’t help it.

 

“ _Thief!_ ” The shout came from in front of her. She kept walking at the same pace, but looked up. A soldier came toward her, axe hoisted.

Est had always loved the lance. It was so easy to control, it drilled so naturally through the air. She knew exactly how to move to push it through a throat, an eye, a heart – all while she was safe a couple of arms lengths away from her enemy.  
This time, she went for the eye.

The axe didn’t pose a problem – she’d sparred against _Commander_! Est knew all kinds of advanced tricks the most skilled axe fighters could attempt against a lance; and this common soldier tried the most basic offense! Est could counter that in her sleep.

She did half a jump over his body, whispering another quick _sorry_ , just for good measure. In case his ghost listened.

She continued through the fortress, butterflies in her heart.

 _Nothing can stop me_ , she thought. _I’m a Whitewing!_


	60. Lines Crossed

Depending on what Maria chose to define as a conflict, this one had either begun in the late morning as a slow-brewing venom and low grumbles, or with shouts and Minerva’s hunting dagger halfway out its sheath.

Maria was usually picky about definitions, but now she sat impeccably still and her mind completely blank. She couldn’t handle raised voices, she couldn’t handle the panic that rose inside her—

“Be reasonable! I say it is worth to take risks!”

Hardin’s raised voice was like the bark of a wolf; short and with a growl of warning hidden beneath.

“ _Risks_? It’s _certain death_!”

Minerva’s raised voice didn’t bother with hidden warnings; hers was the roar of a bear about to strike – and she looked the part, standing hunched with her hand on her dagger, her eyes pinned on Hardin.

“This isn’t _Doluna_ , lest you forget”, Prince Hardin retorted acidulously. “What do you suggest – that we should let you fly in like a battering ram, all on your own? Frankly, I’m surprised you even bother with councils – if you can’t handle these kinds of strategies then stay out of them.”

Minerva’s red freckles disappeared in a rush of blood to her head. “Have I _not_?”

Hardin sat calmly beneath her burning eyes – Maria wasn’t sure if he understood just how scared he _ought_ to be; because _Maria_ was scared and the anger wasn’t even directed at her, and it never had been. But Hardin wasn’t the kind to get frightened.

“I’ve complied to all previous strategies”, Minerva fumed, “Even the ones with _risks_ , but—“

“You take this much too personally.“

“— _you suggest MURDERING MY SISTER!_ ”

Minerva was only an inch from Hardin’s face, and she screamed with such magnitude Maria could hear a worried bugle from Titania in response. And Titania was on the other end of camp, at least half a mile away.

Hardin didn’t budge, but Maria could see the thrum of his pulse on the side of his throat. So he _was_ frightened.

Then maybe, the only one who _wasn’t_ was Caeda. She hoisted herself to standing, and stepped in beside Hardin. Her gaze was ice, cold stare on Minerva.

“Easy”, was all Caeda said. It wasn’t a threat, or a demand – it was asking nicely, but promising that if she had to _repeat_ herself she would be less nice about it.

Minerva glared at her, not moving in the slightest.

The entire tent held its breath; Marth gaped at the scene as if he couldn’t understand it, and Nyna seemed to be ready to get up and leave the second anything got violent – and it would get violent if none of them backed off. As if any of them would _ever_ do that.

Hardin’s eyes were narrow. He was about to speak again, and the thought had Maria’s gut churn. She had to do something. Say something. This was about her, after all. Her pulse still swished in her ears and it made it hard to think but she ransacked her memories of all teachings on war strategy she’d read in her youth, all her sessions with Michalis as he guided her through the more complex strategies—

She grimaced as her stomach churned again, though from what, she couldn’t tell – _everything_ was bad and thinking about Michalis made the bad _worse_. Her feelings were a strangled mess. No, this didn’t do; she had to be calm, had to speak without fear...

“Can I have a say in my own fate, please?” Maria’s voice sounded so distant, but judging from the reactions from those around her, she was sure she had succeeded in hiding her shivering panic.

Minerva’s face softened, and she looked at Maria like she was surprised she could speak. Minerva tended to do that during these councils – _what did it take for Maria to prove herself to her?_ – but this was different, like Minerva couldn’t understand _why_ Maria had spoken.

Maria stifled a sigh, and quickly sorted through the situation in her mind.

They’d all agreed to march for Grust – that had been a painless accord. They’d all agreed that the best way to hit them was through the thin strait of land that connected the Grustian peninsula to the rest of the continent – they’d argued for a while about the ship-route but finally concluded that the Grustian navy was too much of a threat – and that was fine.

The problem was Hardin’s suggestion to have all magicians cross the strait first, with Draug and the other heavily armored knights shielding them; the same way they’d gotten past the bottleneck at Gra’s castle. And there was no fault with that idea – the thing was that the League didn’t have enough armor knights to shield the mages from all sides, as Minerva had been quick to point out – and that would leave Maria and her magician friends open to all flanking fire.

Maria tried to picture it. The League would fight its way across the strait, but the Grustians wouldn’t just leave their only land-border unattended – there had to be thousands upon thousands stationed right where the peninsula got broader. And those thousands would be free to shoot their bows and throw their spears at the League from every side. Minerva was right. It meant certain death – for _at least_ one or two of the frontrunners. They’d be incredibly lucky to get through that without losses. Who would it be? Merric? Linde? Lena?  
_Me_?

She knew what Michalis would have said about it. _Victory without sacrifice is naught but a dream._

Maria bit down and drew a deep breath. She didn’t want to think about that.

“Hardin has a fair point”, Maria began – and Minerva looked like she was considering biting Hardin’s head clean off, so she hurriedly continued; “But there has to be a more effective way to do it. I mean, if the flanks of the defenses are the problem, we could...”

Maria stopped herself. She was desperate for a solution, but the one that had formed in her head wasn’t one she liked. Not one bit.  
_That shouldn’t matter_ , she scolded herself, but she only swallowed again.

“ _We_ could distract said flanks”, Caeda finished for her, and Maria’s heart sank.

“Yeah, Maria agreed reluctantly, “fliers could... cross the water and hit them from the sides. That would keep them busy, and we magicians should be able to reach the other side safely enough.”

Divines mercy. She hated this plan, even more than the last. She moved her gaze to her sister.

Minerva’s fiery eyes stared back with just as much ferocity as before; though this ferocity had a purpose – it was the same as looking a challenge in the eye and knowing the odds were dire, without it invoking any fear. Minerva had used to look that way whenever there was a village to defend, whenever there was a mission to fulfill – but that Minerva Maria remembered had grinned a lot more, hadn’t she?

_What if I won’t get to see that grin again?_

Panic rose in Maria’s chest. She’d gotten good at handling her worries for her sister, but ever since she’d seen Minerva in action, all her work to remain unfazed was useless. What sane person wouldn’t worry, with all what Minerva did?

“Well, Catria and I have been talking a lot”, Caeda continued unsurely – like she was waiting for Maria or Minerva to go on, but read into the silence that no decision would ever get made that way – and she waved with her hand in a vague direction. “And during our chats, I’ve caught the notion that Grust has almost _no_ flying force. Is that right?”

Caeda had relaxed her stance – she remained right beside Hardin, and she still gave the impression of someone who’d never yield. Not an unusual trait in this tent that evening, it seemed; but now Minerva softened even more, and she relaxed her cramp-like grip on her dagger.

“That’s right.” Minerva’s voice was still short in tone, but it wasn’t on par with a war cry and that was a great relief to Maria.

“That gives us an edge”, Caeda said, and Minerva gave a hard nod in agreement. “If Grust has no way to force us to stay and fight in the air, we can hit the ground forces hard. There’s just four of us and we don’t know how well equipped their archers are, but that’s what we’ve got to work with.”

“It’s a risk I’m more willing to take, at least.” Minerva forced out the words, and she glared down on Hardin as she did.

Was this just about their disagreement? It was... strange to see Minerva that upset with her _friends_. Sure, Hardin had been objected to the most for the last few months, it might have been a reason for him to be blunter than usual, and Minerva was... pent up and tense, more so than Maria had seen her since they’d been freed.

Maybe this was just an uneasy brew of their failures and half-victories these last few battles, but there might be something else too. At least with Minerva. Whatever it was, Maria _wanted_ to know, but she didn’t dare ask. It wasn’t the right time to do so anyhow. She bit down the urge to yell at them to ‘ _grow up_ ’, instead she sighed.

“After the front has crossed the strait, we’ll fan out", Maria said. "I know Merric and Linde are absolutely devastating to large groups, and Lena is getting really good... I’ll... I’ll do my best, too.”

There was a slight wobbling inside Maria’s head as she spoke. She had not yet ever killed anyone with her magic – she’d been an accomplice on many occasions, and that was enough to make her feel sick and sleepless – but now she might have to.  _It’s to defend your own life_ , she tried to argue, but the dizziness didn’t settle. _It’s to defend Minerva._

She closed her eyes hard, and the swinging unsteadiness died down so she dared open her eyes again. “We could do this without losing anyone, if we’re lucky.”

“Thank you, Maria.” Marth had finally regained his voice. “Could we all... could we all sit down, please?”

Maria wanted to hug him – a strange urge, but her gratitude of finally moving on from this tense mess was so great, she could have broken down and cried on the spot.

Caeda nodded and brushed past Minerva, who stiffly walked back to her place and plopped down beside Maria. When she was that close, Maria could see beads of sweat on her forehead.  _Oh, sister._

She didn’t really know what to do, so she placed her hand on top of Minerva’s on the floor. Minerva took hold of it immediately, her face twisting like she tried to hold back tears.  _Oh, SISTER._

“Well then”, Marth said with a clearing of his throat. “We have a plan for breaching into Grust, and without injury.”

The councillor Malledus had been left to fend for Altea in Marth’s absence – and perhaps that was a good thing. They would never have been able to move on from this conflict if he was present; Marth had a talent for evening things out. He’d been taught the art of diplomacy for much longer than Maria had, her education interrupted by—

She hugged Minerva’s hand to push the thought away.

“Now, we should make a plan for what awaits us when we _have_ breached their border.” Marth’s voice had already turned calm and factual. He was taking the loss of his family surprisingly well – then again Maria knew what it meant to keep up a facade.

“We’ve mentioned Grust’s elite before”, Marth continued, thrumming his fingers against the back of his other hand. “And among them is First General Camus, the Sable Knight.”

Maria noticed a spark of recognition in Minerva’s face at the mention of the name. Maria wanted to inquire, but she changed her mind immediately. It wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ to know of Minerva’s past life, it was the wave of nauseous guilt that always washed over her that Maria simply couldn’t handle yet.

 _Minerva says it wasn’t my fault_ , she told herself every time that guilt showed up; though that wasn’t enough for Maria now. She looked away, and her gaze landed on Nyna. The Archanean Empress was pale – even paler than when Minerva had been a hair away from drawing a knife on Hardin – and her eyes moved erratically.

“I’ll admit that I expected to clash with General Camus already in Archanea”, Marth continued. He wasn’t looking at any of them, his focus was retreating inward. “But he was hurriedly returned to Grust, for reasons I’m not exactly clear on. He disobeyed orders?”

Minerva grimaced beside Maria, her mind wandering inward as well.

 _If you have something to tell us_ , Maria wanted to whisper to her, _please share! We need everything we can get our hands on!_

But Maria didn’t say anything, didn’t dare. She only elbowed Minerva carefully in her side. Minerva was probably so used to pain and injury she didn’t even feel such a quiet nudge, but to Maria’s surprise she stirred and looked up on Marth.

“He blundered”, Minerva said through her teeth. It was difficult to tell what emotion she was suppressing. “Camus was supposed to guard Nyna, and failed. Doluna never forgives missteps.”

A chill travelled through Maria, the image of scars criss-crossing over Minerva’s back flashing before her eyes. Had this Camus a similar set or scars? The weight in Maria’s belly told her that _yes, yes he did_. He, and many, many others. And those were the _lucky_ ones.

Nyna’s face had grown increasingly pale. Perhaps she too thought of Camus’ fate – although why would she care about the man holding her prisoner?  
Maria got her answer when Nyna opened her mouth to speak.

“It wasn’t a blunder.” Nyna’s voice wasn’t more than a whisper. “Camus meant to set me free. His knights escorted me to the border of... to the border of Aurelis. They risked their lives... for me.”

No one’s surprise matched that of Minerva. She was still biting down her emotions – Maria could see that much – but the way her brow shot to the sky unhindered told her that this was not something Minerva had expected at all.

“Yes, Camus was the one who guarded me after my palace was taken and my family slain”, Nyna continued, her voice a bit steadier. “Doluna saw me as the most breakable; I was young, shielded... They’d wanted to keep me in case they needed to uncover more of my family’s secrets, but after only a few days time they wished for my execution. Camus told me this while he broke in to my prison and led me to safety. We had spoken only a few times, but I had already seen his heart. And it was honorable... Unwilling. He did not consider Doluna’s cruelty his master.”

 _Another one like Minerva_. Maria’s thoughts rushed over her. How many like them were there in Doluna’s army, only wishing they’d be as lucky as Minerva had been?

“Does he have any relations that... might be keeping him under control?” It was Caeda that spoke, with a quick look at Maria.

Nyna shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t... I don’t think so, I...”

“Well, if he’s displeased with Doluna”, Marth said, “then I’ll do my utmost to reach out to him. If we could avoid a battle with him, we’d be safer, and if there’s any hope we could have him join our plight...”

“I’d be grateful for any attempt”, Nyna said. She clearly intended to speak further, but stopped herself and looked down on her hands instead.

“So”, Caeda said after another few moments of silence. “On the agenda is ' _invade Grust_ ' and ' _avoid fighting Camus_ '. We need to fight our way through the Grustian border anyhow, but what follows after that?”

“The Falchion is still a high priority for me”, Marth answered. “The White Sage wants us to go to the Fane of Raman – and that temple is not very far south of the peninsula. We could go there before we take the capital. Trap or no, I can’t leave Grust without at least having a look inside that temple. Since it’s a holy ground for manakete, I’d like to speak with Bantu before we enter. Anyone seen him, lately?”

Maria frowned at the shake of heads from Hardin and Caeda, and frowned even deeper when she saw Minerva’s face darken slightly.

“Who?” Minerva’s voice was still short and cold, but at least she wasn’t roaring anymore. Maria was a bit ashamed that she winced at every loud noise, even her own _sister’s_ , but that was just who she was. She’d work on it, but not today.

“Bantu”, Marth repeated. “A manakete we recruited after leaving Talys. He tends to wander a lot, but keeps around camp. He’s unable to transform, and he rarely speaks – most people don’t even notice him – but he’s a nice fellow.”

“Nice? They can be _nice_ , now?”

“Bantu is not the enemy, Princess Minerva. He came with us in order to not be torn to threads by the Dolunans – I couldn’t just leave him. He’s clearly not with them. All he wants is to find a lost friend, and he’s helped me understand manakete better.”

“And what information has he given to Doluna about _us_?” Minerva spoke under her breath, and although threatening, Maria was pretty sure she was just... too tired to yell. Too tired to snarl.

 _Sister_...

“I trust him”, was Marth’s final statement. Minerva’s left brow twitched at that, but she didn’t speak against him.

“I will send out Midia to look for him”, Nyna said. “If any of you find him, I suggest we reassemble to settle our questions with him; but for now, I think this is enough.”

Nyna probably couldn’t stand the bickering very well, either. Maria had noticed that she too winced a little at bright lights and overwhelming sounds, but she hid it well. They were all too good at hiding their thoughts.

Marth nodded and politely gestured at them all to stand. They quickly obliged, almost too quickly.

Maria couldn’t wait to leave, but she wasn’t the first one out of the opening; Hardin pushed past them, almost knocking into Minerva on the way.

“You’re out of control, _friend_.” Hardin’s glare was cold – and Maria couldn’t exactly blame him for it. He’d been a hair away from possibly losing an eye, if not worse.

Minerva’s face twisted into such disgust, Maria felt like a rock plummeted inside her chest. Minerva didn’t answer with anything but a scoff, and then Hardin was gone. And before Maria could hiss a ‘ _what is going on with you two?_ ’, Minerva had left as well. Quick as a darting Pegasus.

Maria pushed the tent flap aside and jogged after her.

“Hey!”

The days were growing brighter as spring neared, but the middle of the night was still dark and dead from winter’s claws. Minerva had almost disappeared, but Maria could see the flame of her hair reflect the weak lanterns. She didn’t turn around at Maria’s cry, didn’t stop when Maria reached her side.

“Minerva, wait, won’t you walk with me?”

“I don’t feel like good company at the moment”, Minerva muttered back, but slowed down. She still didn’t look at Maria, her eyes only slid to the side, or focused on Maria’s forehead instead of meeting her gaze. Was she... _afraid_ of something?

“Come on.” Maria tried to speak lightly, but that was difficult with everything weighing her down. ”None of us are. Except Caeda, she always manages to be nice, despite it all. Though nice isn’t necessarily good, when it’s a war meeting.”

“Perhaps not.” Minerva slowed down further. “Although lashing out isn’t very good either.”

 _Yes, please don’t do that_ , was what Maria wanted to say, but instead she only shrugged.

“I mean, when _you_ say that something is _dangerous_ , everyone should think twice. You know danger better than any of us, I think. Hardin included.”

Minerva smiled weakly at that, though it did not reach her eyes. “Please be careful, Maria.”

“Always. I won’t stray a hair from the knights’ protection, I swear.”

Though she probably would. Things got so messy in a battle. But she wasn’t going to tell Minerva that, or she’d risk Minerva nabbing her off the ground again. She didn’t like that thought. It was heavy, just like everything else.

 _Give yourself a break_ , she thought, breathing through her nose. She stopped at the edge of the provision wagons, and that had Minerva stop as well.

“So, Minerva, uhm, this is where I agreed to meet... someone.”

Minerva chuckled quietly. “Oh, Cain, perhaps?”

As lovely as it was to hear Minerva’s tone shift a little, the embarrassment overpowered most of it. “I thought you wouldn’t notice!”

Minerva put her arm around her and rustled her hair. And for a fleeting second, she was _just_ her teasing big sister, not a war goddess, not an angry bear, only... Minerva.  
“Palla noticed, not me”, she admitted. “But it’s good. Is it the same for him?”

Maria couldn’t help her own smile as she twisted free of Minerva’s grip and straightened her hair. That was a question she herself couldn’t really answer, and she didn’t mind. Cain was a great friend, and that was enough.

“Maybe”, she chuckled to Minerva. “He’s a bit overconfident in battle, but outside of it, he’s pretty shy. Like me. We’re the same age and that’s pretty rare around here – and we’re good friends. I like that. He cares a lot about training though, that always comes first. He’s so determined to get better; like I am with magic. But he still has time to just have a chat or so. He let me ride Tarina – that’s his horse, you know – and it was _lovely_! I had always thought of learning how to ride, just wanted to be big enough first.”

Maria quieted, the final sentence emptied her mind from some of her emotion.

“You’re big enough now”, Minerva said, gently stroking her hair this time instead of rustling it.

“Yeah, I suppose I am.”

Her emotions got even more distant, as if she was floating away into the sky and they were still on the ground. She hated that feeling, hated that her mind’s attempt to protect her only felt like it did her more harm.

 _Someday it’ll be all right again_ , she thought to herself. She hadn’t lost hope after six years inside a purposeless void; she could handle this war and all things her mind threw at her.

She spotted Cain further away, and that anchored her somewhat. She pushed Minerva, letting out a huff.

“Now, I don’t want to be rude, but I think it’s bedtime for you, old sister.”

“My legs feel so _heavy_ all of a sudden—“

“Minervaa”, Maria giggled. “Come on.”

Minerva yielded. She patted her shoulder before she went, and that small action was enough to anchor Maria further. Every simple gesture Minerva did was the same as a promise. ‘ _You’re safe. I’ll look after you._ ’

Maria never doubted the truth of that, or to what extent she’d go. It brought Maria both exhaustion and guilt to think of it, but most of all she just felt... warm. It kept her mind from drifting, it gave her the strength and courage to stand in the present.

_I’m safe. She’ll look after me._


	61. Storms and Warmth

Minerva’s good spirits died as quickly as they’d appeared. Her tent was empty despite the late hour, so she heaved off her armor without much care, fighting the straps and hinges in quiet, exhausted anger. She couldn’t feel her face – a bad sign. If she looked in a mirror, she knew the Dragoon would stare right back.

Lantern light shone in through the tent’s walls a moment before the tent flap opened and basked the entire room in dulled shadows.

“You’ve returned!” Palla’s voice was bright, sending an odd mixture of both anger and relief in Minerva’s chest. “Sorry it got so late – I’ve had _quite_ a day; you wouldn’t _believe_ the mess in the armory tent! I just hope I could get it in a decent order and that it stays that way. How was council?”

Minerva was tearing off her greaves as Palla entered, but stopped and straightened more out of instinct than free will. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see Palla. It hurt to love in the midst of fury – it cracked all her defenses and sorrow would wash over her like a broken dam. Tears burned worse in a face of stone.

So she didn’t turn around. She stayed as still as she could, clenched fists at her sides and gaze fastened at the opposite tent wall.

Palla dropped her cheerful tone. “That bad?”

Minerva nodded once. She still didn’t turn around, although she knew she couldn’t avoid facing her. Palla was already walking up to her, lantern in hand. For a short heartbeat, Minerva considered closing her eyes, but she pushed that thought aside and met Palla’s gaze.

Palla had angled her head to look at Minerva, and the lantern cast shadows over her face. Her nose appeared more crooked, her scars more prominent. Her smile was a soft stab in Minerva’s heart, her open palm placed on her cheek was a soothing crack in her mind.

It hurt just as much as Minerva had predicted; tears pushed behind her eyelids already. Palla seemed at a loss for words, but the question burned in her eyes. _Why are you hurting?_

It should be an easy answer, but Minerva couldn’t find it.

“Was a bit of an argument”, she finally pushed forth.

Palla stroked the line of her chin with her thumb. “That’s hardly anything new, is it? It would be strange if you all agreed every time, with all your different priorities.”

That was true - Marth wanted nothing but to know the fate of his sister and the Falchion, it seemed, and all Hardin wished for was the protection of Aurelis and Nyna. Caeda and Nyna themselves were less obvious about their wishes, and so was Minerva. What was her priority?

 _Maria_ , her thoughts answered her immediately. This council had proved that well enough. Her jaws tensed, and Palla lowered her hand.

“We’ve taken it a step further”, Minerva answered. “If we were like bickering wyvern hatchlings before, we’ve turned to a batch of wild dragons now. I sort of almost sliced Hardin’s face in half.”

Nausea brewed inside Minerva as she spoke. She should have handled that better – she could have raised her voice, but drawing daggers was not in the lines of diplomacy.  
She could blame Doluna, she could blame Michalis, but that would be pointless deflecting. Her first instinct was violence, and whoever’s fault that was it didn’t change the fact that she’d lose her friends if she couldn’t hold herself back. Unless she hadn’t lost them already. ' _If you can’t handle these decisions, stay out of them’_.

Palla’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Slice Hardin’s face in half?”

“No. I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“That’s good.” Palla smiled a bit wider and pulled a few strands of hair behind her ear. Minerva’s seething frustration dissolved at the sight, and she couldn’t hold her tears back any longer. She couldn’t push her grief back, not with Palla – she didn’t deserve a closed off Dragoon, she deserved better...

“It’s not ‘ _good_ ’”, Minerva whispered. “It’s... Palla, I am insufferable.”

_They don’t want me as a leader along with them. No one wants that, I can’t be one; I can never be anything but a murderer’s tool—_

“Minerva, no.” Palla put the lantern on the ground and took hold of her shoulders from both sides. She tilted her head down to really look Minerva in the eye. “Don’t say that.”

The tears found all kinds of paths down Minerva’s cheeks, some following the lines of her scars, some pooling in the dimples of her old injuries – and she took a moment to realize that she could feel her face again. “Why not? I feel like I am, I _know_ I am—”

“Then your feelings lie to you.” Palla moved her hands up to cup them at the base of her throat. “I know you’re loved. I love you, for one.”

“But I don’t deserve that.”

Palla didn’t answer. Her lips pushed together, like they did when something annoyed her, but her eyes glowed of helplessness.  _I’m sorry_ , Minerva wanted to say. _I’m sorry, see, I AM insufferable—_

She didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop – why she'd spiral out of control now. It was as if the storm inside her gained strength as soon as the storms _outside_ had settled. No peace inside her mind. She'd done wrong, she'd shown her friends a side she wanted to hide, and the pain inside her was without mercy. How could she forgive herself of this? How could anyone?

Palla tugged at her, pulling toward the bed hides. “Come”, she said. “Let’s sit.”

Minerva still had one of her greaves on, but she followed Palla to the bed of furs and let herself be dragged down to sitting, let herself be wrapped in Palla’s arms. Palla seemed to think that it was always better to be comfortable _and_ sad than _just_ sad, and she was usually right. But for Minerva, it simply relaxed her defenses even more and the storm grew wilder inside her mind, but she didn’t have the energy to rise. All she could do was let her tears fall unhindered into Palla’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry”, Minerva hiccupped.

 _Don’t apologize_ , the storm immediately followed, _there’s no point, no one will care eventually, they call you a friend but only because they can use you – Palla will tire of you,_ _this won’t last – you won’t be good for anything once the war is done – you’re never good for anything—_

It was impossible to prove the thoughts wrong, new venomous ideas only took the place of another. She wished she could take a break from her own head.

“I’m sorry”, she hiccupped again.

Palla stroked her back, moving her head to press her lips against the side of Minerva’s head.

“I’ve felt the same”, Palla whispered. “I’ve felt like I don’t deserve to love or be loved. We’ve done many things wrong, but why must we punish ourselves when we try to do right? You deserve to be loved, as I love you, as my sisters love you, as Maria loves you. You do. _We_ do.”

Minerva couldn’t answer. She stayed with her face burrowed into the nape of Palla’s neck; if she could hide here then the storm inside her couldn’t reach as far, she’d be able to breathe easier – although perhaps not. It was suffocating with both her nose stuffed shut and her face pushed against Palla’s skin. She had to pull back to gasp for air. Her ragged breaths felt cold inside her chest.

Palla kept her arms around her, rubbed her shoulders with soothing movements. Minerva wiped beneath her eyes, letting out one last quiet ‘ _sorry_ ’.

Palla smiled a little, though she still had the glow of helplessness about her. “What happened to shake you up this badly, love?”

“Tired”, she answered under her breath. “Desperate. All of us.”

“That’s hardly new, either.”

“Hardin wanted to put Maria in danger. _That’s_ new.”

It wasn’t the idea itself that had made Minerva snap – although she had felt a cold clarity as soon as Hardin had spoken – it was the way he pushed it. The way he seemed willing to provoke her.

And she couldn’t figure out why. He had reasons to hate her, but why he would then claim to have forgiven, to be offer friendship and support – she thought he if anyone would _understand_? She didn’t want to assume Hardin had lifted the idea with the sole purpose of angering her – unless he wanted to prove a point and elevate himself. ‘ _The Dragoon is still dangerous, but I am brave enough to stand against her_ ’.

She refused to believe that about him. It was better to assume that he was as frustrated as the rest of them, and maybe he was still hung up on his suspicions about her brother’s involvement.

She wished that cursed White Sage had never shown himself.

“Hardin wanted to hurt her?” Palla leaned back a little. “Really?”

“I protested, but he insisted. I almost drew my dagger, in the end.”

 _Almost_. She was frightened to know just how close she’d been.

“I admire your restraint.” Palla crossed her arms. “I would have elbowed him in the nose, no questions asked.”

Minerva let out half a chuckle and wiped her nose. “And here I thought it would have gone better if you’d been there.”

Palla smiled again, visibly relieved of the slight shift in tone. She shrugged, still with her arms crossed. Minerva regarded her in quiet. Her thoughts were getting in line again, but her heart still beat forcefully. She cleared her throat in an attempt to completely clear her mind.

“We’re beginning the march for Grust tomorrow”, she said, wiping her face one last time. “What does that... What does that make you think?”

Palla’s smile died down. “Right. I’ve thought of ways to survey the ground and skies, but all of them are dangerous. Catria said she’d bring Caeda along, and I thought I’d ask you – but I have my doubts. I don’t want to risk all of your lives just to find Est. I’d like to go alone.” She raised a finger, as if sensing Minerva’s coming protest; “But we have to breach into Grust before then, and right now it sounds like I have to focus on keeping Maria safe. One little sister at the time.”

Minerva relaxed. She’d much rather postpone any arguments on the matter; her mind felt completely drained.

“Thank you”, she whispered. “It’s... It means a lot to hear you call her that.”

Palla let out a slight laugh. “She’s been our sister too, since the day we joined your service. I won’t let her be harmed.”

Minerva leaned closer, and Palla met her by bending her head. Their foreheads touched, and Palla stroked her hands along Minerva’s arms until she reached her hands and took them in hers.

“Palla... If I die, I want you to be there for Maria.” Minerva closed her eyes. She didn’t want to say this, she wanted to live, she wanted to remember what peace looked like; but now she felt so fragile, she could break from a gust of wind. She rambled on, frightened of the thought that she'd ruined the brightened mood. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, it isn’t... I don’t want it to ever be relevant, but it might be someday. I just... War's not going to stop anytime soon, and... She needs a sister.”

To Minerva’s surprise, Palla didn’t rear back or object, she merely stroked the back of Minerva’s hands. “I promise. I know you would do the same for me. Now don’t talk about death, love. Let’s face the future.” Her forehead shook against Minerva’s with her little laugh. “Or rather, let’s go to bed. I say we leave ‘ _the future_ ’ for tomorrow.”

Whether or not Palla was as unfazed by Minerva’s sudden request as she let on, Minerva couldn’t stop herself from being grateful. _You don’t deserve her_ , a part of her hissed again, but she pushed it aside. It had no energy to fester – she was so, so tired. She finally pulled the greaves off her feet, and slumped down beside Palla.

Palla welcomed her with open arms, and by throwing the duvet over them.

“It will all feel better in the morning”, Palla said as she nudged closer. She poked at the corner of Minerva’s lips with the tip of her finger. Minerva caught it with her own, and traced the scars on Palla's knuckles absentmindedly.

“You’re probably right”, she whispered back.

Palla’s eyes narrowed so that her eyelashes merged together; that was her genuine smile. Minerva could be as miserable as death, and still melt into a puddle of affection when Palla looked at her that way.

“’ _Probably_ ’”, Palla mimicked. “I say it will. Nothing probable about it, dear highness.”

Minerva laughed, though it sounded more like a huff. She sidled closer to kiss her goodnight, and Palla leaned in to meet her.

Their usual kisses were brief, but this time neither of them pulled back. When they moved, they moved to explore another corner of their lips, or to angle their heads back to breathe. They'd been starving for it without realizing, starved for something so simple and wondrous; Palla locked her hand behind Minerva’s neck, Minerva lost her fingers in the ocean of Palla's hair but didn't care. She didn't care about anything other than Palla's small sounds of curious surprise and the pressure of her lips against Minerva's. She didn't want it to end.

When they stopped, Palla had wrapped herself close, her breath warm and damp against Minerva’s neck.

All hissing thoughts of Minerva being undeserving of this could go die in a fire for all she cared. Only one thought hammered with her heartbeat;

_Please, by all gods and divines. Don’t let me lose you._


	62. Torches in the Sky

Minerva didn’t protest when Marth proclaimed that her companion for the coordinated sky strike was to be Caeda.

Minerva didn’t even glance at Palla before she nodded and gave him her ‘ _it shall be done, sire_ ’, and she didn’t listen to her urge to grab his shoulder and ask him to reconsider; if Palla was by Minerva, lances wouldn’t be as much of a threat. A selfish desire, not easily quenched.

Minerva didn’t bother him about Maria either; she refrained from asking Marth to place her sister in the safer middle of the army instead of the front. Minerva could have argued that it wasn’t necessary to have Maria in the front when they _marched_ – it’d be better to have the paladins be the first to step into unknown bends in the road instead. What would Maria do in case they ran into hostilities? Would she retreat, would she fight, would she put herself between a projectile and her mage friends—? 

 _Shut up_ , Minerva hissed at her thoughts. Marth thought things through, he wouldn’t put anyone in obvious danger. The heavy armor knights were the tip of their blade-shaped marching pattern, they could handle themselves. Minerva didn’t have to like it - she could ignore her discomfort for the sake of demonstrating to Marth just how agreeable she was.

At least the former choice made sense. Caeda and Minerva would hit the west flank of the Grustian defense while Palla and Catria hit the east. Pairing up like that complemented their strengths better than if Minerva was left with Palla – two lances in the same pair would be both a danger and a waste of potential – with the current plan the sky knights were a honed edge, able to power through with as much force as possible.

And if all went well, the four of them would be able to reunite in the center of the enemy army and wreak havoc together, but that was a very large _‘if_ ’. Grust could have both ballistae and archer barricades as a countermeasure – and since the League was going in almost blind, it was better to not count on any easy solutions. Minerva would do her part and Palla would do hers, and at the end of it all, they’d be either on the winning or the losing side. It was that simple. Minerva had more to lose than to gain if she struggled against orders; though her gut wrenched with the distress of staying silent.

First step was to get through the day. She could live in the illusion that her troubles would ease just after the march, after the battle, after she finally assembled enough courage to face Maria, after she’d convinced Palla to let her join in the search for Est – though if she attempted to plan ahead it all turned to a sludgy mess.

Every single link in the chain hinged on a myriad of details she could not control. It was easier to let the time tick by like it always did. She tried her best to ignore the thought that the chances of ever finding Est was growing smaller by each day passing.

\---

Minerva did her best to look approachable for the entire march. She thought of Maria as a reference – she always managed to look friendly no matter what. The whole thing was reminiscent of Minerva’s first days in the League; her head throbbed with the impossible attempts to keep a tab on every glance her way and read meaning into it and the draining act to think of how she should act to prove them wrong _just in case_.

Although this time, Palla was at her side as they walked alongside the paladins on the ground. Her presence made every look in Minerva’s direction feel less threatening, but she was far from comfortable.

Minerva hated not knowing what stories had been shared outside the council tent over the last few days, but she’d rather _not know_ than invite the conversation. Every eye on her felt like a judgement, but she knew that might not be true. Perhaps nothing had been said. Perhaps it got exaggerated inside her head. Or perhaps Minerva was right, and the League simmered with whispers of the thin ice the Princess Minerva had stepped out upon, only to quiet when she was near.

Whatever was the truth, the prickling thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone and it turned the march into a constant, slow pain.

Titania was equally unamused by the ground route – although it had less to do with anxiousness and more of her not being allowed to overtake the horses ahead of her. That wasn’t an issue in the sky. Titania _knew_ she ruled the heavens, but on the ground, she had clear intent on proving herself time and time again. Her urge to show dominance became difficult to suppress, especially since Minerva shared her sentiment and would rather take to the air and get on ahead, paladins be damned. Orders were orders, however; Marth had wanted the sky knights to stay grounded for as long as possible, so that they wouldn’t lose any flier to a possible sniper stationed among the trees. Even if the risk of snipers were low, even if Minerva had gone through countless marches with her Macedonan army and never been sluggish enough to be hit by such a surprise attack, she kept her head down for the exact same reasons she shrouded her discontent about Maria’s and Palla’s assignments.

Minerva threw an eye over her shoulder in an attempt to locate Caeda and Catria in the masses; they were concealed by the paladins most of the time, though Minerva had caught sight of their faces occasionally. Or, what she saw could just as likely be Midia or any other knight with hair like a stormy blue sky, but it still improved Minerva’s spirits to be reminded of them being near. Even with Palla right beside her, it helped knowing she wasn’t alone in this ocean of paladins.

The road was thinner, and the paladins packed together – she couldn’t catch even the slightest hint of blue – instead, she was met by an eagerly advancing paladin with jewelled armor in green and gold.

Minerva doused any expression she might have worn and crawled inside the hard walls of her mind. It happened so quickly she almost didn’t notice it. It wasn’t a logical response, not really – the rider wasn’t a threat, but he was the person she’d _least_ wanted to meet with at the moment.

She narrowed her eyes; he was still on his way toward her, but perhaps he was only passing by.

That hope died quickly.

“Princess!” Prince Hardin greeted her. Minerva fought the urge to bare her teeth at him in warning, and merely stared back at him with an expressionless face.

“I finally got a chance to speak with you”, Hardin continued. “It’s nice to have you on the ground with us!”

Minerva merely glared at him, hoping to intimidate him into staying silent. She’d rather not hear his small talk. No such luck; though Hardin surprised her in how he continued.

“I’ll cut to the chase; I feel like I’d do best in apologizing for my rudeness.” Hardin kept his head high, as he always did, but his gaze was no longer deprecatory.

Minerva felt unsure if there were hidden meanings beneath his choice of words; she’d never been good at catching those. His tone was genuine though, so she cautiously nodded back.

“And I for mine.”

The prince smiled and shook his head. ”I appreciate it, but there is no need. The fault was mine. I do not know what came over me; I saw an opportunity to provoke and seized it. I brought disgrace over the entire council, and I alone.”

That seemed like an exaggeration and Minerva wondered if she was supposed to disagree and assure him that he needn’t worry, that she was fine now – though she couldn’t really bring herself to. That would be a lie. She was not fine, not yet; but should she set her own feelings aside for the good of their future companionship?

To her relief, Hardin didn’t wait for her response; instead, he continued in a different direction.

“I realized my mistake only the morning after – I’d then had time to fully digest my brother’s latest report. Those reports grow increasingly dire, you see; panic grows in the whole south of Aurelis. Doluna is bleeding into our kingdom still, and my brother tends to blame you quite… vividly. He warned me about you in his latest message.”  
Minerva arched a brow, breaking her expressionless mask. “He did?”

Considering what she’d done to him it shouldn’t surprise her, but she’d still thought of her choice to show him as much mercy as she could with relief. The Aurelian king could have been worse off – his throne was what had taken the hardest hit. Then again, not all injuries were physical.

Had the Aurelian king told his brother what it was like to sit curled into a ball and look an enemy in the eye through the bars of his own dungeon? Had he painted the image of his soldiers’ belongings being tossed around among Macedonans and discarded?  
_Of course he had._ There was no reason for him not to.

Hardin’s face grew stern and he lifted one of his shoulders dismissively. “Do not think much of it. My brother holds grudges, your highness, and that he always has. The fact is, I know you and he does not. Yet anger got the best of me. My brother’s resentment spreading over to me, I suppose.”

Minerva wasn’t sure she liked the way he phrased that – she wanted to ask if he _really_ didn’t have any anger of his own; if he truly trusted her. She thought better of it. If Hardin was still conflicted about her role in his kingdom’s destruction, but did his utmost to not let it blind him, she’d be wiser to not stir anything up. Not on the shaky ground they both stood on at the moment, anyhow.

 _Keep postponing your troubles for tomorrow_ , her thoughts jeered at her. _You’re great at that_.

Hardin bowed his head, bringing two fingers to his lips. “That is all, Princess Minerva. I try to not let passion dim my senses, and I shall continue to try in the future we face although that is a particularly hard battle. One’s heart is a difficult entity to ignore, after all.”

“So it is.”

“I am sorry”, Hardin repeated, and bowed once again. “I believe the best way to lay the past to rest is by seeing these battles through to the end. Bury this war, as quickly as we can and let this cruel world be but a memory.”

Minerva saluted him back, palm over her heart. “That would certainly make it easier to disagree.”

‘ _Disagree_ ’ was a weak word, considering Minerva’s constant hammering fear for Maria; though the prince laughed heartily.

“Indeed, indeed. Peace be with you, Princess Minerva. And may war gods stand by you.”  
  
Minerva followed Hardin’s figure in the sea of people as he moved on further toward the front. She thought she spotted him trotting up beside Marth with a short bow in his saddle. Was he apologizing to Marth as well?

_Perhaps he simply doesn’t want to risk dying with grudges against him._

That thought filled her with guilt. She should have sought him out first – _she_ should have extended that sign of truce. She owed him that much after what she’d almost done. _  
But what of what HE had done?_ Should she just forget about it? Was that what a good leader did? Did they not stand their ground no matter what – wasn’t that what Macedon had grown to be? Was she denying a part of herself, or was she denying the unyielding voice of Michalis’ teachings? 

She glanced up at Palla; she had kept herself out of the conversation entirely but when Minerva looked at her she noticed Palla’s gaze on Hardin was wary.  
  
Minerva was certain she was missing a part of it all, and it frustrated her, drained her. No matter how she twisted her mind for a solution, it only sprouted new aspects of the same problem. She shouldn’t bury herself in this, especially not right before battle. The road had begun to open up, and the smell of the ocean reached her.

 _Just let it go_.  
  
She breathed in deeply, let the damp, salty air reach her lungs. The hours passed and the closer they got, the louder the low murmur of the sea grew, until it was a song of crashing waves.  
  
Half the League had already spread out along the beach when Minerva and the paladins reached the shore. The front stood right where the bridge of land begun, though the only one Minerva could spot was Draug and even he was soon concealed as the rest of the army fanned out along the shoreline.

And if she drew her eyes away from the pointless task of spotting Maria in the masses, Minerva could get a clear view of the opposite beach.  
  
Doing so, she finally understood why the waves were so loud. Thousands of Grustian paladin’s on the other side of the water stood in neat rows ready to defend, their low unfriendly murmurs carrying over to the opposite side. Coupled with the increasingly enraged and excited voices of the entire League, the song of the ocean became deafening.

“Well”, Palla said, almost inaudible. “At least now we know what await us.”

 

\---

 

Grust was considered an island by some people, mostly those who didn’t know any better. Minerva hazily remembered her father gently scolding her for referring to Grust as one of the island nations – it was a technicality, but an important one for royals to know since Grust took offense for many things. Not being referred to as a part of the Great Mainland was one of them.

Since all that connected Grust and the mainland was a thin strip of dry land only a few horse-lengths across, it was easy to make such a mistake. During high tide, that connection did not even exist at all – hence Caeda had helped Marth plan the exact right time for the League to attempt their crossing.

Palla kissed Minerva good-bye as soon as most of the paladins around them had fanned out and the back lines had reached them. Her hand behind Minerva’s neck was a tad bit more desperate than usual. Minerva reached for her face to return the gesture, but by then Palla had already pulled back. Her eyes were iron, her shoulders tense as bowstrings. She was already fighting; she had been fighting her own battle since the moment Est had gone.

Palla’s final words were ‘ _see you in the center_ ’ before she disappeared into the eastern clouds.

“See you in the center”, Minerva repeated quietly, to no one in particular. Maybe Caeda heard her, but if she did she chose to not react. Caeda’s focus was pinned on Marth. She knitted the reins in her hands as she watched him set into position with the others. Marth’s place was behind Draug, Dolph and Macellan at the very front, but he would stay back when they advanced.  
The mages would not.

Minerva focused on the shields hoisted and ready around the cluster of magicians. The paladins behind the magicians had begun to carefully step out on the unstable sand. They sunk into the wet mass, into the mud and waves splashing around their hooves. Brown sludge clotted in the coat along the horses’ legs and on the frills of the magicians’ garbs.

Had Maria joked about _not_ wearing socks, or had she joked about _wearing_ them? Minerva specifically remembered that Maria had said something about socks and then laughed. Whenever Maria opened her mouth to speak, a bell of guilt tolled inside Minerva’s mind; what she _should say_ constantly drew her focus.

 _Soon_.

The final fixes on the front’s arrangement were soon done, and Minerva was hit by overwhelming nausea at the sight of Linde as the most shielded. She knew she couldn’t say anything; it was all according to plan. Maria wasn’t endangered, not with all paladins behind her and followed by the giant mass of infantry and foot soldiers. She wasn’t in a vulnerable position such as Merric, who was on the unprotected side; had Merric vouched for that? Had Marth somehow put one of his best friends half in the open – or had Merric simply drawn the shortest straw? She couldn’t see either of their faces. Was he frightened? Was _Maria_?

Minerva closed her eyes to keep her thoughts from derailing, and sent a short, vague prayer to any Divines or Gods that might be listening. It wasn’t what she usually did, but the restless energy within her simply wouldn’t stay put; everything around her stressed her. Palla was far gone, Maria was walking into the range of disciplined rows of javelins, and Titania was a tangle of fury beneath the saddle.

The signal for the flier’s charge couldn’t have come soon enough – the moment that Marth’s gleaming rapier was hoisted into the sky, Minerva took to the air. Caeda was right behind her.

 

Grust prided itself on their superior school of paladins – and thus, the school of lances. The vast majority of the paladins on the beach had followed with that traditional weapon, and the sight filled Minerva’s heart with a cold joy. She had both the advantage of higher ground and the advantage of a heavy axe over their lances.

She and Caeda crossed the water in less than a minute. Javelins were flung their way from the front rows, but they had very little momentum when thrown so high, and were an easy feat to dodge.

The first dozen Grustians were demolished beneath Minerva’s strokes before Caeda had made her first dive.

Minerva was reckless, and she knew she might have to pay for it – but she could finally fight, finally direct her frustrations in her battle cries.

All her other problems ceased to trouble her; the only thing in existence was the ringing song of Hauteclere within. The edge that crushed bones even beneath armor and splintered the lances wielded by those she couldn’t reach – it was all she felt. All she wanted to see. And with every dive, Minerva left at least a dozen Grustians either fatally injured or vulnerable for Caeda’s follow up.

Javelins were still chucked at her with full force, though at worst it hit Titania’s scales and made her even more furious – it was only when the first arrow swished past Titania’s throat that Minerva reined back. It marked the end of easy destruction, she had to pay greater attention and search the battlefield for the source of the projectiles.

She found them quickly enough, she circled and dived in her best attempt to avoid the projectiles. A lesser trained sky knight would be too dizzy to continue – hence why bringing the mages along in the air wouldn’t be a good idea – but Minerva’s head was clear as day. She calculated her own position with that of the swishing arrows in her direction and spotted them, even as she was still spinning through the air.

There were archers in the back lines. Minerva couldn’t get a good estimate on how many; the archers lined up volley after volley and kept her too busy. Most archers seemed to be stationed in turrets closer to the center, equipped with strong bows and ballistae with reach all the way to the flanks.

To stay still was to die. Minerva’s plunges had to be quick, she had to be unpredictable and lucky – nothing short of the usual then. The only difference was that she _wanted_ their attention. Every arrow sent her and Caeda’s way was one less for Maria. Minerva taunted them best she could, and Titania followed suit as if she knew what was at stake.

Or knew to trust Minerva about it, at least.

She swept toward the west. Organized chaos was beneath her, the ground troops crying for the archers to stop the sky knight assault ‘ _by any means possible’_. True to their orders, a ballistican projectile spun toward Minerva. She dipped down, then to the side, letting the projectile swish past along with the next volley. The ballistan projectile, not having hit its target, followed its arc into the Grustians beneath. Minerva didn’t look, but she was fairly certain that she heard the sound of a whole horse being pinned to the ground.

Minerva’s head had throbbed for the better part of a week, but now it pulsated with the madness of battle. Her spine was cold, ready for the smack of an arrow into her at an moment, but the rest of her burned. They had a chance to win. Grust were desperate, their neat rows naught but a shell of the kingdom’s former glory. If the magicians could cross the strait, that was the end for the proud mass of paladins. The Grustians had given an answer honed on a bloodied edge, but Minerva had yet to take any serious injuries, and it seemed like her Pegasus companions fared equally well. This was where they dominated; under an open sky, free of castle walls and caved-in roofs. Minerva’s chest hissed with the hope of actually succeeding, actually managing to meet up with Palla and Catria in the center as planned.

There was a humiliated fury in the air; Minerva recognized it all too well. Every action against Grust in the Dolunan councils was met with an inaudible gasp of ‘ _what unspeakable audacity!’_.

Because it was Grust’s gods-given right to always be the invaders, to always be the most advanced in military might, to always be on top. Even with Minerva’s somewhat thin knowledge of the international political climate, she wasn’t surprised Grust had sided with Doluna six years ago. And if she listened honestly to herself, she heard her heart thrum with the pleasure of flipping the board on the Grustians. She did not enjoy the sight of terror in her victim’s eyes, but the taste of finally bringing justice for the countless civilian families that had been trampled beneath the Grustian’s proud hooves was a bittersweet one. Though what that made her, she didn’t know.

She darted to higher air. She gave Caeda a signal to stay back a bit since they were getting closer to the snipers stationed in the wooden watchtowers. The towers were built further up on the beach where the ground was stable enough to support such a structure, right behind the army’s center. The rain of their projectiles almost constant. In the short time Minerva was still in the air, an arrow hit into the second finger of Titania’s wing. A loud chime chirred through the air as the tip fractured the scales.

Minerva’s breath caught in her throat, and she ordered for a loop to the south so that Titania wouldn’t stress her damaged wing. She hoped the snipers weren’t too familiar with the counter-manoeuvres of a sky knight, or they might have let out another volley exactly where Minerva was headed. Unpredictability was the best way to outlive an archer.

She couldn’t possibly meet up with the rest of the fliers in the center, not with that many snipers safely behind their wooden barricades. They would have to wait until the magicians had come close enough to burn them down, like the barricades on Gra.

Minerva cursed under her breath. She’d never imagined it to be easy before, and chided herself for letting herself catch hope of it. Grust might have lost some of its might to starvation, but their discipline still outshined everything else even in their time of desperate humiliation. Only the strongest hadn’t succumbed to hunger or desertion. Only the strongest stayed in formation as the projectiles that missed the sky knights whistled down on them. Only the strongest would ever consider risking their comrades’ lives for a chance to hit.

Minerva would do best in not underestimating them.

With a second glance on the towers, she tried to determine her possibility to chuck throwing axes into the aiming slits – though seconds later she found that there was no need for it.

Four knights among the Grustians closest to the sniper towers had begun to brawl with their comrades. Minerva’s eyes narrowed. Were they defending the towers from someone in their own army?  
No – smoke had begun to rise at the tails of their mounts – they weren’t defending the towers, they were doing the opposite. They defended the fire from those who came to quench it. It wasn’t a fire started from the League’s mages, either. This one sprouted from the bottom, licking the wood steadily rather than swallowing it whole like magic tended to do.

Minerva didn’t have time to stare in surprise – though she did meet Caeda’s eyes.

‘ _Ours?_ ’ Caeda signaled. Minerva answered with a ‘ _doesn’t matter’_ and delved toward the center. Whoever those knights were, they opposed Grust and had given the sky knights a great advantage. Now Minerva had the chance to dominate the field completely.

She charged into the center, clashing into the mass of knight distracted by the fire. Palla and Catria came from the other side in synchronized arcs; Palla’s face was stern, extraordinary, her sword wielded with a formidable anger, close to vengeance. From the way they’d treated her, Minerva understood more than well, and her own heart ignited again with a new intensity.

Another arrow swished past Minerva and returned her focus to the towers. Some bowmen had chosen to stay and were still a threat, but most of the snipers had decided to take their chances and jump from the top of the tower rather than perish in the flames that now stood like torches into the sky; and as Minerva watched through the blinding fire emerged a flier. With smoke hissing from the feathers and hair shining in a wild, short ponytail, her lance spun in the air and her voice carried even over the roar behind her.

“THAT IS HOW YOU MAKE AN ENTRANCE!”

The flier was a wild hawk in the sky, as if born out of the flames entirely. She hollered as she rose higher to the sky and then plunged down on the soldiers on the ground, completely carefree of the last few arrows sent her way.

A ray of relief spread with Minerva's grin. There was no mistaking her.

“Eeeeeeest!!” Catria was waving her lance, copying Est's movement.

Catria had set off her course and despite her joy, Minerva signalled a harsh ‘ _FOCUS'_. To her relief, Catria caught sight of her and veered off, a volley of arrows whistling past her Pegasus's hooves. 

Another blinding fire roared below them. Merric and Linde had reached the perfect vantage point, and their magic devastated the front. A weak flash of lightning broke through the fire; so Maria had to be alive.

Time for the final devastating push. 

Minerva spotted an opening, and without thinking, she gave a stream of commands. Her mind had immediately latched on to the return of Est, she connected the missing dots seamlessly. Her signals were an array of ‘ _sweep'_ , ‘ _west'_ , ‘ _triangle formation’_ , ‘ _wyvern ram'_ , ‘ _Caeda stay back_ ' and ‘ _aware magic_ ’ – and the Whitewings clicked into place within a moment. 

They cleared a large portion of the western back lines before they had to take air in order to dodge the next of the magicians' inferno.

The flames blended with the cry of hundreds of Grustians. From above, Minerva could see the victory unfold out of the ashes; Hardin's division had cut through all the way to the flanks, the Archaneans led by Midia had reached the last of the archers, and every single soldier of the League had crossed the strait. 

In the end, the Grustian general fell to Linde’s flames. About a sixth of the Grustian defense retreated, while an equally large portion stayed to fight even though the cost of their life was obvious. Marth did not order a pursuit for those who retreated – he never did – but the ones who stayed soon reunited with their general. 

Minerva lazily plunged at some, but her body ached and she’d rather let the ground forces take care of them. In addition to that, keeping her eyes away from the skies was proving more and more difficult – watching Est move through the sky was like witnessing a shooting star; a sight so rare but never forgotten. The sword over Est’s back glistened in the sun as she circled just above Minerva, watching for her next command.

The older Whitewing sisters had clearly lost focus, just like Minerva had. Palla had gone so far as to sheath her sword, and Catria’s last few javelins missed their target.

 _The ground forces can handle this_ , Minerva decided. She gave a clear signal and sailed down to land at the back of the emptied forts. The Whitewings followed; Est’s mount skipped eagerly in the air while Palla's was wobbling as though it wasn't given any proper commands. Minerva looked closer and couldn’t help a smile; Palla had let go of the reins completely and was crying into her hands. Her Pegasus trotted down beside Titania, and gave the wyvern a confused glance before it shook its mane. Palla slid out of the saddle, without looking at anything or anyone. Her focus was directed at one thing and one thing only, as she staggered into Est's arms.

Est had only just gotten out of the saddle herself, although she seemed to be prepared for Palla’s reaction. She enclosed her sister in an embrace, but she gave a little sigh as Palla wailed into her shoulder. 

“Come on sis, don't cry”, Est said. “I'm fine...” 

“Oh Est”, Palla sobbed, “I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!” 

Est frowned, her eyes on the ground. “Hey, it's no big— I mean, it was weeks ago, let's drop it, yeah?”  
Minerva had heard about their fight many times over, when Palla had caved in during the long hours of the night. For as much as it had cut deeply for Palla, Minerva doubted Est was nearly as hurt from it, though the shame was clear on her cheeks.

“We were both just a pair of stingy blockheads, all right?” Est attempted a carefree pat on Palla’s back. “See, I admit I was one, too!” 

Catria was the last to dismount and approached her sisters slowly. Tears had snuck into the corners of her eyes and she wiped them with the base of her palm, where her gauntlet didn’t threaten to cut her.

“You sure are shining example of a blockhead, sis.” Catria’s voice was thick as she put her arm over Est's shoulder with a small grin. “I knew you’d come back, but you sure took your time.”

Est shrugged, finally looking up from the ground to glance at Catria. “Yeah, well, I had stuff to do.”

At that, Palla leaned out of the embrace with a firm grip on Est’s shoulders, still with tears flowing down her cheeks. “’ _Stuff to do’_?” she repeated, her voice shrill. “Est do you have _any_ idea—“

“Ugh”, Est interrupted, her eyes darting to the ground again. “I get it. Sorry, all right? Can we drop it, now?”

Palla seemed to be about to yell something else; she’d inhaled deeply and held her breath, her gaze sharp as a dagger’s tip. But she didn’t say anything, and let out a slow exhale.

“Yes”, Palla finally whispered. “Just... please... don’t do that again.”

Est relaxed, letting out a little laugh as Catria pulled her in to hug them again. “I won’t, I won’t! I’ve had enough of missing you guys.”

“Aww”, Catria teased; “You missed us?”

Est answered with a quick roll of her eyes. “Ignoring you.” She then glanced on Minerva, and smiled wider. “Oh, and heya, Commander. Thanks for not being dead.”

Minerva slid out of the saddle, counting Est’s words as an invitation. She was overjoyed to see Est again, but for Palla’s sake, she had kept a distance. A family matter was a family matter, for as much as Minerva was a part of it.

Minerva stopped beside Palla and returned Est’s smile. “Same to you, Est. It’s good to have you back.” Minerva nudged her shoulder. “But Catria’s right, you took your time.”

“Catria who?” Est asked innocently, and Catria responded with a rowdy shake of Est’s back.

“Your sister, whom you missed very much.”

“Ugh”, Est snarked, but there was a small smile in the corner of her mouth.

“Seriously though, sis”, Catria said as she let go; “How’d you know where to find us?”

“Rumors and stuff”, Est answered with a dismissive wave. “I had just gotten into this fort— oh, _right_ , my _mission_!”

Est broke free of the hug and tugged at the straps keeping the glistening sword on her back. She quickly lost patience and instead hurled the sword over her shoulder. It hurt Minerva’s eyes to look at the swords many jewels, but it was hard to keep her eyes off it all the same. She’d never seen anything quite like it.

“This is _Mercurius_ , Commander!” Est’s eyes beamed almost as much as the blinding jewels in her hands. “Like, this took me _weeks_ to track down but when I found it I had to break in and out of a giant _fort_ and when I got out, there were arrows flying left and right – you should have _seen_ me! I wasn’t even scared – I’m a Whitewing, right!? Those Grustians didn’t even come close and now I got this sword back from those thieves!”

Palla had grown paler, but Minerva only smiled. “That’s not surprising”, she said. “I know I can expect great things from you, Est.”

Est beamed brighter at her. “Right? Thanks Commander.”

“Please Minerva, don’t encourage her to do stupid things”, Palla begun her protest, but she was cut short by Catria’s laugh.

“Yeah, as if she needs encouragement!”

Est blew up her cheeks. “That’s so mean! I’m gonna ignore you again.”

“You still didn’t answer the question.” Palla sounded so tired. It was a rare thing, Palla’s voice flattened by exhaustion, though it wasn’t of a bad sort this time. Her voice chimed of relief.

Est seemed about to cross her arms, but looked down on the sword n her hands and thought better of it. “What question – how I found you? Like it’s hard? You’re not exactly being sneaky – Grust has been buzzing with the talk of the oncoming League-invasion for a while, it all leads to here. Hey Commander, you want the sword or not?”

Minerva held up her hands. “I really shouldn’t – it is better for you to give it to Marth. He’s the big commander around here.”

“Right, him.” Est looked over her shoulder, lowering the sword. “I’m pretty sure he isn’t big, though? He looked really small, but then again I’ve only seen him from on high.”

As if hearing his cue, Marth emerged from the low buzz of the army on the beach. There was a purpose to his steps, and Caeda led her Pegasus by his side – no doubt she’d told him about Est, and Marth simply couldn’t refrain from greeting every new recruit personally.

“Princess Minerva”, he nodded at her. “Thank you for your service – sky knights brought us this victory. And—“ His gaze turned to Est. “Speaking of; is this a new friend?”

“Prince Marth”, Minerva greeted him back. “Let me introduce Est, the third of my Whitewings.”

Marth scratched his face, leaving a stain of dirt. He seemed tired, and Minerva couldn’t blame him. He’d fought through the wet sand alongside everyone else in the infantry. Mud reached all the way to the knees of his pant-legs. He might have come over out of a sense of obligation, and that only, but apart from the distracted gaze, he didn’t let that show.

“You’re not familiar”, he said to Est. “But welcome to the League, Est of the Whitewings.”

He turned as to walk away, but was stopped by Est, as she jumped out of the circle of her sisters.“Oi, not so fast, your highness! You’re the big commanding one of this League-business, yeah?”

Marth looked over his shoulder, brows high. “Maybe”, he said, earning an elbow in the rib from Caeda. “Ow— I mean, _yes_ , that I am.”

Est extended the sword in her hands toward him. “Commander says this should be yours.”

If he was surprised, Marth didn’t show it; he simply reached out and accepted the sword. The handle was a royal blue, and almost transparent. With Marth’s blue-tinted leather gauntlet, the color was enhanced many times over.  
“I, uhm, thank you, Whitewing. It is delightful, and—”

“It’s Mercurius, one of Archanea’s three regalia”, Est interrupted. “Worked real hard to get it, had to fight a bunch of guys all on my own, but I stole it right back from those stealing bastards! Pretty spiffy, huh?”

Palla’s eyes had widened in horror; she looked about to grab Est and apologize to Marth a thousand times, but before she could Marth had slowly nodded.

 “Yeah…” Marth said unsurely. “Spiffy.”

Est gave one of her clumsy courtesies, before she dived in front of Caeda.

“And _you_!” she exclaimed happily.

Caeda stiffened, her eyes darting to Catria before darting back to Est. “Wha— Me?”

“Yeah! Think I’d forget? That thing you did at Aurelis Castle – you just did this amazing thrust when I was above you. You extended your reach but you didn’t lose any power and you sliced up my leg real proper!”

Caeda paled, her gaze shivering. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t have a choice—“

Est waved her apology away with a grin, bouncing in place. “I mean, that move was sensational! You’ve _got_ to teach it to me! What’s your name?”

Caeda opened her mouth to answer, but was immediately interrupted.

“ _Ooooooh_!” Est cried as she went up on her toes and looked above Caeda’s shoulder. Her mouth moved, whispering a ‘ _no way_ ’ before she sucked in all the air she could and screamed at the top of her lungs.

“MARIA!”

Est seemed to forget all about Marth, Caeda and the rest of her sisters. She took a few limping steps, arms extended.

“Maria!!”

Maria spun around, her eyes wide as if she expected a catastrophe; then her gaze froze. Maria stared at the figure limp-running toward her, her face impossible to read before she opened her mouth into a wordless cry, dropped her staff on the ground and ran. Her legs hammered on the ground, and she crossed the distance before Est had come halfway.

Est was about twice as tall as Maria, but the height difference disappeared as Est fell to her knees, caught in Maria’s arms.

It was only then that Est cried.

 


	63. The Firefly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one-year anniversary for this fic approaches! To celebrate, I have prepared a massive update, and, well... We begin with one chapter a day!
> 
> I'm just as excited about writing this as I was when I started, if not MORE. There's been so much support and encouragement from you all and I appreciate that so, so much.
> 
> Here's to another year! And again, thank you <3

“I am Est!”

The crowd around the fire – exhausted soldiers and retainers and keepers and helpers – hoisted their portions of thin soup carefully, not wanting to spill any of it, but their cheers were unrestrained.

Maria, ever the quiet one, had both her fists in the air, competing even with Catria and Minerva on being the loudest one.

“There will be _no_ dumb drooling dragons chasing us _on my watch_!” Est continued. Her eyes glittered in the firelight; she was truly thriving with a whole army’s attention. “I’ll punch ‘em right in the jaw!”

She forced a fist through the air, as though striking an imaginary foe – it might have looked silly, had anyone other than Est performed it. She managed to do it with the perfect amount of playfulness, dramatic flair and non-negotiable anger, and she finished off with a final yell; “Let’s make them pay!”

The crowd made clear their agreement, mixed howls of ‘ _yeah!_ ’ and ‘ _woooh!_ ’. Catria was too excited to stay seated, she bounced up from the ground into half standing, nearly spilling her soup as she cheered along with them. Her eyes glittered like Est’s.

She didn’t hold a candle to Maria, though, whose skin shimmered in a literal glow, her happiness drawn into the shape of light. She was the first to stand up and help Est step over and between the seated soldiers on the ground, so that she could join their little Macedonan corner. Between the many ‘ _excuse me_ ’ and ‘ _coming through_ ’ and ‘ _sorry, could you move your cloak_ ’, both Maria and Est were grinning the whole time.

Minerva moved to the side to make room for Est to sit, and in doing so she scooted closer to Palla. There wasn’t much space; they were basically bumping heads and elbows whatever they did, but no one minded. Palla placed her arm around Minerva’s shoulders and leaned onto her.

 

Palla wasn’t as loud around Est as the rest of them, or as cheerful. She was slack in her body and movement, slacker than Minerva had seen her in many, many years. At first, she’d feared Palla was ill, but Palla had denied it with a reassuring smile; and the thought struck Minerva that this might the first time Palla had been truly relaxed, in... far too long. So, in a way, Palla shone like the rest of them, but it was a soft, tired glow rather than a beaming one.

 

Minerva righted herself so that Palla’s head could rest against the side of her throat. Est babbled constantly, her gestures wild with excitement. Her attention was directed at Maria and Catria at the moment, so Minerva took the chance to lean down to Palla’s ear.

“You all right?” Minerva whispered, carefully rubbing Palla’s upper arm. Palla only nodded, her breath like small, content sighs. Minerva felt her own breathing ease, and she pressed her lips against the top of Palla’s head, closed her eyes. She hadn’t felt so at peace since—

“By the _GODS_!”

Both Minerva and Palla jolted out of the embrace, and Minerva nearly knocked her elbow into Maria’s chest.

“For _real_!”

It took more than a moment for Minerva to realize that the shrill yells belonged to Est, who was shaking her sister’s arm.  “Catria!! Did they just— Did you _see_ that!?”

Catria took a sip from her bowl with her free hand, unfazed by Est’s outburst. “ _Yes_ , Est, some things have happened in your absence.”

“ _Gods_!” Est was still screaming, and she let go of Catria to grab Palla by the shoulders best she could in her excited frenzy. “I’m _so_ stupid! _That’s why you didn’t want to talk about boys with me_!”

Palla only stared at her at first, and Minerva opened her mouth to say something to help her, but she wasn’t sure what to say, either.

“Y... yes”, Palla finally pressed forth. “Sorry.”

“Don’t _apologize_! What in the world – silly sister, I can banter about boys with Catria, no problem.”

“I’d rather you didn’t”, Catria said, but she was smiling with the rim of the bowl at her lips.

\---

Since new recruits were becoming less common in the League, the novelty around Est's arrival became a public affair. The reason for it partly amounted to Est herself – she and Maria were joined at the hip and shoulders at every turn, but somehow Est was also everywhere else at the same time. Soldiers spoke of her in fascinated awe, her arrival through the flames of war somewhat of a legend already; her yell of introduction had echoed loud enough for the entire camp to stir.

They called her the _Firefly_ , as a joking comment at first, then as a serious, name of honor.

All things were in favor for Est to adapt quickly. She got the full support from her fellow Macedonans, Prince Hardin’s squad chatted with her like old friends (except for Wolf), and she made the effort to get to know the name of every single person in the League. She instantly _loved_ Caeda and Midia, something she told them upright; and while the former smiled and nodded, the latter wasn’t impressed. Midia had been filled with laughter similar to Est before, but she retreated further and further back into a perfect soldier for her liege; suspicious and cold. Perhaps she didn’t like seeing a reflection of her old self within Est. Or perhaps Minerva didn’t actually know her well enough to tell.

 

For Minerva’s part, it was difficult to stay away from Est; she and Maria dragged passersby into their joy, their sisters’ most of all. Whenever Minerva, Palla or Catria was able, they walked with them for a bit – usually it turned out with Est and Maria caught up in conversation and Minerva or the rest of the sisters close behind. Said sisters only answered questions when they were directed at them, and sometimes they dropped off to perform a task for the camp. They were rarely all of them together, but Minerva didn’t mind. There was a special kind of peaceful feeling to have everyone come and go as they pleased, with the only constant being Maria and Est. There was a special kind of peaceful feeling in the knowledge that both of them would still be there when Minerva returned.

Est hadn’t been granted any assignments as of yet – perhaps because every time she met Marth she caught him off guard with her playful demeanor. Minerva almost felt a little sorry for him. After every interaction with Est, Marth stood impeccably still and frowned out into thin air, as if he tried his best to recreate the conversation and couldn’t quite believe it. When all diplomatic rules were not only _ignored_ , but _completely barged through_ , Marth tended to freeze. Maybe it was a good thing for him to practice unexpected turns by speaking to Est; but after the third attempt, he stayed clear of her.

As for Est, she would find something to do – if not Marth finally granted her a task first. In Minerva’s opinion, there was no hurry for it. As they began to move further into Grust, it was nice to have Est’s cheerful company as a distraction from the war.

Though Maria’s presence acted as the opposite for Minerva. She was a constant reminder of what needed to be done; but since Est spent so much time with Maria, Minerva couldn’t fathom ever tearing though Maria’s joy by bringing her down to the cruel reality they faced. Her heart was too soft to endure it.

 _You’ll just hurt her by waiting further_ , she scolded herself, but veiled in the laughter of the Whitewings, she couldn’t. How could she knowingly shatter what was perfect?

Again, Minerva waited. And on the third day since the border breach, duty called for Maria.

 

Lena had let Maria spend the good remainder of the week free of a healer’s burden, but during one of the walks where the entire Whitewing squad was present, a lightly dressed knight approached them. He bowed at both Est and Maria.

“Ladies”, was his greeting, and then he stood straight. “I’m sorry, do I come at an inappropriate time? Lena redirected me to you, princess Maria.” He stretched out his arm, and extended his hand toward her. “She couldn’t quite get the bones in my fingers align right.  See, if I make a fist that finger just rotates inward – Lena said you might have a better solution than she had. It’s been like this for a few days and it hurts a bit, and I can’t hold my lance right. I’d love to get to train with Cain again.”

“Oh, just a moment!”, Maria said as she let go of Est and scrambled for her staff. “Just a moment. Poor Lena, I should really get to the healers tent and help her. Give me your hand.”

The knight spread his fingers, and let Maria prod at his injury, before she pulled at his finger with a hard twist. Abel winced, but only shook his head and smiled at her ‘ _sorry_ ’. Maria let go, and Abel tried a few times to make a fist. His smile grew wider at the result.

“Wow”, Est said over Maria’s shoulder. “You’ve gotten better at that magic-y stuff!”

Maria brushed her hair behind her ear with a small grin. “Oh, yeah, maybe a little.”

“You are fantastic at the healing arts, your highness, do not think otherwise”, Abel agreed, before his gaze turned to Est. “You’re the new recruit, I gather? The Firefly?”

Est preened at the name, spinning a lock of her hair. “Sure am! And you’re?”

Maria smiled back at her, then gestured to the green knight. “This is Abel”, she said. “He was the one to come and break me out in Deil, took out the ones guarding me.”

Est stared at him. “You’re—? Ah—“ She drew a deep breath, not letting her eyes falter from locking his gaze. “Sorry, I’ve wanted to meet you! Castle Deil was _impossible_ – I’ve thought of how to get in _so many times_ , and then _..._ Maria told you did it all on your own, like, you swashbuckled and sliced down anyone in your path! Everyone fled from the sight of you!”

Abel laughed, clearly taken back. “I can’t say I did it like that, no. There was a whole army behind me; I merely cleaned out the last corridors. Under those conditions, I don’t doubt the great Firefly could have done it just as well if not better.”

“You know”, Maria sighed at him, hands on her hips. “What Cain’s told you is pretty spot on. You’re too humble for your own good sometimes.”

That earned a wider smile from Abel. “Cain’s right about a lot of things when it comes to my faults.” Then his eyes darted to Est again. “Sorry to disappoint, but it really wasn’t so glorious, my lady.”

“I’m not dissap—“ Est began to object, but stopped in the middle of her sentence, eyes wide. She cast a quick look of disbelief over her shoulder, right at Catria, Minerva and Palla. Her lips mouthed ‘ _my_ _lady?!_ ’ as her eyes got even wider. Minerva almost feared they’d pop right out of their sockets, especially when she looked back on the knight again.  
  
Either Minerva had gotten more used to spotting flashes of interest in the people around her, or Est was of a particularly obvious sort. Est’s eyes were fixed on the knight, her head slightly tilted. Minerva was pretty sure her mouth was open, still in stunned silence.  
  
“Well”, Abel said, flustered from Est’s outburst. “It was... a pleasure meeting you. And thank you, princess Maria. Though now I bid your leave. Your Highnesses. Esteemed Whitewings, and, uhm, Lady Firefly. Good day.”

Minerva gave him a small wave; Maria a more excited one. Est didn’t react at all, she was still frozen in place.

“I’m gonna go to the healers' tent”, Maria said, with a pull on Est’s arm. “You wanna come with?”

“Yeah”, Est said, her eyes lingering on Abel’s disappearing figure. She had to be dragged away, Maria’s grip over her wrist the only reason she moved. Maria gave a warm goodbye to the sisters she left behind; while Est still didn’t speak.

“Oh, poor us”, Catria snorted with a shake of her head. “Just look at her. I swear; after she’s out of her shocked state, she’ll _never_ shut up about him! Anyone’s got some spare wool I can put in my ears?”

Palla let out a laugh. “I don’t mind.”

“ _You_ say that! She just told us she’d only banter about boys with _me_ now! Give it a few days, and I will have gone _mad_!”

Palla only smiled at her.

\---

Titania’s wing had bruised badly during the border breach. An arrow had fractured one of the wing’s fingers, and healing magic couldn’t restore all of it, not without time’s help. So Titania stayed on the ground, sour from the pain and lack of flight. Even the Whitewing’s pegasi kept their distance out of respect for her mood; the only one allowed close was Minerva.

The march south began very soon after they’d secured the border, and Minerva kept Titania on the ground when they moved and left her in the stable clearings when they set up camp to let her heal in peace, and also for Minerva to get the time to spend around her friends.

 

Though not soon after Maria had been pulled into her healing duties again, Est proclaimed that she wanted some ‘ _sister-time, for old time’s sake_ ’.

It excluded her, but Minerva happily took the time to sit properly with Titania. There was a special, peaceful feeling in that too; her head against Titania’s chest, where her breaths rumbled beneath her scales, and her face tilted to meet the evening sun.

 

Though Titania wasn’t very peaceful at the moment; this evening was worse than the earlier ones. Maria had said that the fourth day of healing would hurt the most. Thus Titania only greeted Minerva with a glare, instead of her usual purr.

Minerva extended a hand as an apology, carefully scratched her behind her jaw spikes.

“Sorry, love”, she smiled. “I feel lousy for leaving you alone, but it’s easy to get caught up in all of Est’s ideas.”

Titania snorted and shot a dark look at Est’s Pegasus, as if she understood exactly what Minerva was saying, and didn’t like it. Titania had loved Tyra, late Queen Fridh’s beloved friend and Est’s former Pegasus that had been lost at Aurelis castle; but Est’s new Pegasus had yet to impress Titania. They hadn’t had that much time to bond, considering their separation had happened almost immediately after the loss of Tyra. Strange, how after just a few days, that time was a distant past.

“Feels like time’s been standing still these last few days”, Minerva murmured into Titania’s scales. “I feel... I feel _rested_ , I feel _relaxed_. It’s pretty unfamiliar. And unfair to you, of course.” Minerva moved her hands along Titania’s wing, and stopped before she reached the injury. “Sorry about this. I tried to keep you safe, I really did.”

Titania lay down on the ground with another snort, her wing slightly hanging. Minerva followed suit and sat down beside her. Titania let out a pleased growl as she placed her head in Minerva’s lap.

Minerva couldn’t help a smile from growing on her, and she leaned her own head back to watch the pegasi graze by the edge of a meadow, a good, safe distance away from the wyvern.

“They’re still looking for that manakete”, Minerva said distractedly, as she stroked Titania’s scales. “You wouldn’t know where he is, would you? You’re obviously much better than those creatures, cousins or not, but maybe you could smell him, or something? I don’t know.”

Titania sighed and closed her eyes. The breath out of her nostrils tore up some of the dry grass around Minerva’s knees.

“Yeah”, Minerva laughed. “You don’t care. Good. I don’t really think this secret manakete actually _exists_. Midia have been looking for a long time with her Archanean squad, and we haven’t heard anything. Honestly, I’m glad. The world is so much better without dragons – we don’t need any of them complicating things in the League.”

Titania’s answer was just a yawn. She might not have gone into deep sleep for a long time. With a new march every day, and the pain of a healing wing; even Titania must be strained. Minerva stilled her hand on the top of Titania’s head, only brushed one of her spikes with her index finger.

“That’s good, love”, Minerva whispered. “Rest up. It’s my turn to watch over you, and way overdue. Sorry.”

Titania only snored in response.


	64. Sister's Talk

There were parts of a human body that could only be felt when it was truly relaxed. Palla had discovered that firsthand.

Her shoulders ached. The tense knots from wear and worry were like crackling lumps under her skin. She knew perfectly well how to massage them smooth on another person, but massaging herself was difficult. She’d taught Minerva how, a long time ago... Though since their relationship changed, asking Minerva to help was even _more_ difficult than trying to do it herself.

If she asked, Minerva would almost certainly drop whatever she was doing to help Palla, and it was a little embarrassing in being cared for; Palla was so used to being the caretaker herself. Though that wasn’t what held her back.

What held her back was that it was still too good to be true. Overwhelmingly so.

There was something so unbelievable in the way Minerva’s callused hands could move so softly over her skin, something so unbelievable in how Minerva’s cheeks would flush along with hers. They’d helped relieve each other’s aching muscles for years on end, but since the _change_ , there were beautiful words unspoken between them. Palla wanted it to never end, she wanted for the unbelievable to keep happening, she wanted to wrap Minerva in her arms and feel her breath against her skin and it made her embarrassed just how _intensely_ she wanted it.

She wasn’t used to such powerful feelings, and she wasn’t used to clutching to someone so tightly. That was the difficult part; there was so many strong feelings involved, she was sometimes afraid that using words wouldn’t do any of it justice. All in all... It made it tricky for her to ask Minerva for something so simple. Palla wouldn’t let it stop her, though. She knew she was just being silly. Next time they were both free, she’d ask.

 

That she worried about such small things was a good thing, after all. There was room for meaningless woes, all of them like unnoticeable shadows in the sunlight of her happiness. Her heart beat with Minerva’s, and her family was complete. It opened up for her to feel all small stresses, but so many other things, too.

Aside from Palla’s aching shoulders, in her new, free world, there were sounds that she heard, smells that she caught, and sensations that she’d forgotten – all of them distant memories from the time before the war.

When she walked with Est in sight, Palla could hear the swallows whirring as they crossed the sky.

When Est handed her a bowl of their provisions with a wide grin, Palla could smell the thyme.

When Est laughed, arms locked with Maria, Palla finally felt complete calm.

 

The immeasurable joy of Palla finding her path and heart renewed within Minerva was much different from finding her sister whole and safe. It wasn’t fair to compare them.

For one thing, Est’s return meant a more personal kind of relief. Palla hadn’t caused her sister harm by her failures. Though really, it was no thanks to Palla that Est was fine, but rather Est’s own strength and luck; but when the world had decided to blow favorable winds their way, why shouldn’t she be grateful? Why not be relieved?

For once, Palla hadn’t had to fight until she dropped to save what she loved. Her plans to scour the borderlands, prisoner cells and abandoned villages all over Grust - they could be cast aside. Her sister was alive. The Gods finally smiled at her.

 _I will never let this happen again_ , she vowed silently to herself, each time she was reminded of her baby sister, alone in danger. _If there is a next time, I will be there for her._

It was an eldest sister’s job, wasn’t it?

 

As for Est, she was an expert in pretending things hadn’t happened. She always had been. Once, as a child, Est had thrown all of their wooden dishes into a creek and when Palla yelled at her to stop, Est had spun around with her hands behind her back saying ‘ _stop what?_ ’ She’d hammered her spare clothes onto trees in order to get them dry, and while Catria mended the holes Est would dance around her without so much as an apology.

But she never did the same thing twice. That was her way of saying ‘ _sorry_ ’.

So, maybe Est effortlessly going back into the dynamic of the past with Maria and her sisters was the natural way of things.

Maybe, asking to meet her big sisters at the edge of camp for some ‘ _sister-time, just for old time’s sake_ ’, because ‘ _we have to catch up, yeah?_ ’ was just another way to apologize.

 

The outskirt of the camp was calm, empty except for Catria who sat on her cloak and idly played with straws of grass between index finger and thumb.

“Good afternoon.” Palla smiled as she spread out her own cloak beside Catria’s. “Est’s not here yet?”

Catria scoffed, and dropped the piece of grass on the ground beside her. “When has she ever been on time, sis?”

“This ‘ _sister-catch-up-time_ ’ was her idea, I sort of figured she’d try to be.”

“Yeah”, Catria shrugged. “So did I, I guess. Well. My bet is that she saw Abel do something like comb his hair, and she had to stop and process it for half an hour.”

“Comb his hair?”

“I don’t know! I tried thinking of something ordinary and underwhelming. You wouldn’t believe what she’s shared with me, so far. She seriously babbled about how handsome he was while he _drank water_. Couldn’t make this up if I tried. Anyway, she’ll be here.” Catria smiled a little, and brushed the grass in front of her with the tips of her fingers. “We know better than to doubt her ability to find us, yeah?”

Palla could hear that Catria didn’t expect an answer, just a nod. Palla knew her sister well enough to notice; her words were cut short, and she made an effort to look at anything else instead of at Palla. She always did this when it was just the two of them – if Minerva or Est was there, or if they had a clear mission, Catria could be such an outgoing spirit; but when it was just her and Palla, she turned inward. Palla was used to it, really. When they were kids, it was an effective way to avoid fights, although in retrospect, a sad one.

“Catria”, Palla drew the courage to say; “I... know you were joking, but... I wanted to thank you. You’ve been... an amazing asset to Minerva, and a great sister to me. You never doubted Est, and you helped me believe, too. And... I’m sorry, for not being as strong as you when it came to that.”

Catria glanced at her from under her forelocks.

“Nah”, she muttered. “Come on. I mean, thanks, but... Why do you always apologize for not being perfect, Palla?”

That took her by surprise. Palla parted her lips, but no sound came.

“Well”, she finally stuttered. “It’s far from perfect, what I’ve done. I haven’t been able to care for you both as well as I’d liked – I was barely home, to begin with – and sometimes I think about what you said to me after mother and father died—“

Catria had turned her full attention on Palla, and now her brows arched in despair. “Palla, please—“

“—that it would’ve been better if I’d died instead of dad. Sometimes I can’t help but think you were right. Maybe you don’t remember—“

“’Course I do!” Catria snarled. “Gods sakes, Palla! I’ve never regretted anything I’ve said more than that. Why do you always have to bring up the past when it’s just the two of us?”

Palla shook her head, unable to find words. What started as an apology went right to disaster; like it always did when she tried to talk to Catria alone.

“It would _not_ have been better”, Catria continued, in a softer tone; “because my sister would have been bloody _dead_! Dammit Palla, don’t listen to kid Catria – she was hurt and sad and really stupid.”

Palla felt tears in the corner of her eyes, but she tried to smile. “Sorry... Sorry. You want to forget about it?”

“I’d like for you to not dig yourself in the same darn hole all the time, and yeah, _forget_ about kid Catria! Grown up Catria is right here.” She pointed a thumb at herself and looked away again. Maybe she did so subconsciously – avoided to look at Palla for too long.

Palla’s lips were dry. She tore off a flake of skin from her lower lip, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She tried to think of something to shatter the silence. When she finally spoke, her voice didn’t quiver.

“And what does... What does ‘ _grown-up Catria_ ’ think?”

Catria raised her brows, but still didn’t look at her.

“She thinks it would be real nice if she could have a chat with Caeda and never once mention anything about a war or knighthood or whatever – just be like normal friends. And she’d also like to see her sister and Commander some more. Same thing applies; no talk about blood and death and sadness. I’m so tired of war. Seriously.” She paused, then shrugged. “If grown-up Catria’s sister could bring her ‘ _dear highness_ ’ to one of grown-up Catria’s and Caeda’s evening flights, that’d be nice, too.”

Palla wrinkled her nose. “Don’t call Minerva that. Sounds weird when you say it.”

“It was a bit bizarre to say, yeah.” Catria corrected her headband, with a quick look on Palla’s shoulder. “Please don’t tell Commander I said that. I bet she’ll give me her smug little smiles for weeks. Like when I told her I’ve tasted hay more than once – why couldn’t she just let that one go, ugh.” She tipped her head back and stared up into the sky with narrow eyes.

“I can’t believe I brought it up again. Don’t remind Commander of that, whatever you do.”

Palla doubted Minerva needed to be reminded, since Palla herself so vividly remembered. They’d been alone at the time, with the eyes of Doluna pinned on them from every direction; and Minerva’s pinned nowhere. Her face hadn’t moved in weeks, her thoughts no doubt in a constant, impenetrable void. And Palla knew Catria had intentionally told Minerva about her hay-tasting-sessions, just to make her smile even a little. How could she possibly forget that?

“You’re lookin' at me weird, Palla.”

Catria hadn’t moved her gaze away from the distant tents, but she’d noticed anyway. Palla laughed a little and shook her head.

“Yeah, sorry. It wasn’t about the hay, I promise.”

Catria scoffed a small ‘ _yeah, right_ ’, but she smiled too.

“Catria, honestly. Thank you. For everything you’ve done, for everything you do. I’d love to come with you and Caeda, and I’m sure Minerva feels the same. It’ll be... It’ll be fun!”

Catria turned her face away, so that Palla couldn’t see, but she knew Catria grinned, nonetheless. Est turned up just then, and she clasped her hands together.

“Aw, you’re happy to see me!”

Both Palla and Catria laughed, but neither of them tried to contradict her.


	65. Hidden Dragon

As it turned out, the manakete Marth had spoken of wasn’t just a fragment of his imagination, much to Minerva’s dismay.

 

The League had marched halfway to the Fane of Raman and was just about to set up camp at the edge of a lush forest. Minerva and Palla was about to set up their tent, an activity Minerva quite enjoyed doing. It was simple, she got to use her hands, and see Palla’s focused gaze as she struck down the spikes with her hammer; all in all, a good way to spend an evening.

Midia’s stern expression staring at them from the fluttering light of a lantern was not welcome during such a time. Not that it ever was. Minerva couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Midia laugh. She’d told Minerva a long time ago that she was looking for someone – her fiancée, was it not? Maybe the fact that they hadn’t found them was the reason for her constant frown of worry. That, and that she alone saw to the immediate safety of Empress Nyna; a job too big for any one person, yet she shouldered it.

“He’s been found”, was all Midia said as her greeting. She didn’t move any closer, and she didn’t acknowledge Palla with her gaze. “There’s a clearing to the west of here. My Lady awaits you there, Princess Minerva.”

Minerva dropped her hammer beside her. Her heart constricted in her chest, her feet felt like they were planted on the ground in a refusal to move. She’d hoped, she’d _believed_ , that this moment would never come, yet here it was.

She _could_ refuse, but she felt it better to face this dragon herself rather than to hide. She wouldn’t hesitate if an intervention was needed. Minerva brushed Palla’s shoulder as a good-bye. Palla caught her hand with a sweep of her fingers, but didn’t look away from her work.

Minerva plucked Hauteclere off the ground and fastened it over her back before she left. She wasn’t taking any risks.

 

Minerva arrived at the same time as Maria and Caeda to the clearing. The rest had already taken a place in the middle of night’s fog.

Marth stood and supported himself on a boulder the same size as himself, and on that boulder, a hooded figure sat curled with his shoulders in an odd, triangular shape. Minerva had seen enough manakete to know that the figure hid wings under that cloak – but she’d never seen any of the other manakete try to cover themselves. The Dolunans flaunted their wings with a sense of superiority; this one hid under the face of a human. There was no seething, animalistic anger around him, either.

Her first thought was that maybe – _maybe_ – Marth’s judgement was right, as it so often was.

Her second thought was nothing more than a hiss. _That’s what it wants you to think. Don’t be fooled._

Nyna stood on the manakete’s left side, her head free of her crown but still bent as if under a great weight. In the distance, Minerva spotted Midia as her shadow.

“So”, Nyna said. “As you can see, Bantu is real.”

The cloaked figure lifted his head. “Indeed I am. Greetings, children I have not yet met. You hail from Macedon, I’ve been told?”

His voice was calm and rang true, but it still held the undertone of a hiss all manakete voices did. Minerva’s skin prickled, and her heart grew cold from hatred. Neither Macedonan princess answered his greeting.

“It took you a while to get in contact”, Minerva decided to say instead. The ice in her heart spread to her voice.

 “I am very sorry”, the manakete answered, his tone untroubled. “As much as I am grateful for the League’s protection, there are risks I have to take and path’s I have to search, sometimes days of journey away.”

Minerva’s gut coiled, and she glanced at Marth. Was she really the only one to think of this as strange?

“For what purpose, exactly?” She kept her voice hard, shielded herself with the thought of Hauteclere over her back. She went through the motions of how to swing it in order to have the manakete’s head clean off before he could transform or react.

“To find his friend”, Marth interjected, in an attempt to ease the tension. “Really, Minerva, there is nothing amiss here.”

Minerva almost missed the old councillor Malledus, almost wished he hadn’t stayed in Altea. He could have been there to gently remind Marth of how treacherous people could be. Did that fall to her, now?

“That _friend_ could be _Dolunan_ , for all we know.” Minerva pinned her gaze onto the manakete, and his gleaming eyes found hers.

“Minerva—“ Marth began his objection, but he was interrupted by the manakete.

“I understand your fury, Strong Child, I really do. Macedon stayed closer than most to the Dolunans; you’ve seen them commit the atrocities I merely been told about from afar. It wouldn’t be well if you didn’t distrust me. But I would like to stress just how little of a friend I am to the monsters you know. Perhaps we were kinsmen, millennia ago, but it is a time long past. No, the friend I speak of, she’s... More of a daughter.”

This was news to Marth and Caeda too, it seemed, and the manakete let out a quiet laugh.

“I have been vague regarding my whereabouts and intentions, I realize, but I suppose that must change now, lest your aggression grows. My protégé’s name is Tiki. She was assigned to my care by her mother some centuries years ago. She’s one of the few young ones left among us manakete, and the last of her kind.”

“Hold up”, Hardin interjected. “What do you mean by that? There are plenty of manakete about.”

“None like her, Noble Child. None like her.”

 _You’re still vague_ , Minerva was tempted to bite back at him, but Maria’s hand carefully locked into hers, almost as if she sensed Minerva’s restless hatred and knew exactly when to stifle it.

 _Calm down, please_ , the squish of Minerva’s hand told her. She tried to oblige with a frustrated exhale. The manakete twisted in discomfort on his boulder.

“Tiki’s mother wanted her kept secret, and isolated, hence my... hesitation to share. I apologize.”

“You need not share more than you can”, Marth said, curse his kind heart. Minerva squished Maria’s hand harder, to keep herself from interrupting Marth’s approach. “All we want to know is what to expect about the Fane of Raman. It is some sort of Dragon Temple, is it not?”

The manakete’s eyes glittered a little at the name. “So it is. A sanctuary for Divine Dragons, long lost to time. Oh, I wanted to show it to Tiki, she would’ve loved it.”

Minerva did not like how some of her cold hatred washed away at his words. This manakete – Bantu, she supposed she should think of him as such – didn’t just pretend to look human, he acted like one, too.

She let some of that come forward with her voice, a tad bit of softness she was unable to hold back. She knew what it was to be lost and live each day unknowing if her family lived or not.

 “Sounds like you’ve lost most hope of finding her again. Why’d she disappear?”

“Alas.” Bantu’s eyes gleamed of sadness at that. “The longer she’s left alone, the more I fear for her safety, yes. It’s been months since we were separated by warring dragons. They caught sight of her, you see, and they wanted her. To kill or to keep for as their emperor’s weapon, I knew not, but I told her to flee while I kept them away, but there’s only so much I can do since I cast my Dragonstone away.”

“Why would they want her as a weapon?” Caeda asked. “Are child manakete better soldiers?”

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite; but Tiki is special.” Bantu hesitated again, but a quick glance on Minerva made him talk again. “I trust you know of Naga. She was the matriarch among the Divine Dragon Tribe, powerful beings far beyond humans or other tribes of manakete. More like gods than the gods themselves, in a way. They have long since left this mortal plane, though Naga was the last of the known to do so, and unwillingly. What she left behind was her daughter, to be cared for by those she trusted.”

“Oh”, Maria whispered into the night behind Minerva. “Oh, I see.”

In the murky evening light, Minerva thought she saw Hardin mouth the words ‘ _gods be damned_ ’ in utter surprise. She quenched her own urge to mirror him.

“So”, Nyna said, her face calm and collected as always; “The Divines we pray to and thought were long gone, they still exist?”

The sad gleam in the eyes of Bantu quieted down, and in its place came a flash of fear. Emotions Minerva had not yet seen in the glow of a manakete’s gaze. “I will not answer. Tiki exists, and I tell you so you realize my honest goal is to protect her, by Naga. Nothing else.”

“I’m glad you told us”, Marth said, an honest but polite smile on his face. He might not trust the manakete nearly as much as he let on; in his eyes was the relief of finally getting the answer to questions asked in thought but never words. “I promised you I would do what I can to help aid you, and now we might even help you find this Tiki! What does she look like?”

“Small. Hair like her mother, with the crown of the Divines on her brow.”

“Oh”, Marth said, unsurely. “Well. We’ll do our best.”

The fact that he didn’t push the question was more telling than anything, Minerva realized. Bantu might be nice, he might actually be on their side, but he was slippery nonetheless. His wings twitched and his head tilted this way and that, as if he was getting ready to leave at any moment.

“The Fane”, Maria peeped from behind Minerva. “Before you go, tell us about it. Please.”

Bantu’s gaze turned to her, with all the intensity of an immortal life.

“Yes, the Fane”, he repeated. “I strayed from the point, I apologize. I shall tell you what I know. The Fane of Raman has not been entered by dragon or human in many, many years before the war. Though rumors of its treasures might have attracted any number of plunderers... There are said to be no traps, and no sentries; but not many of the curious explorers are said to return. The central chamber, where most of the treasure lies, cannot be opened by anyone other than one with Divine Blood, or one blessed as such.”

Nyna brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, slowly and thoughtfully. “I assume you cannot open that door for us.”

“I cannot. I am but a simple Fire Dragon. There might be one that can, and that is thanks to you, Empress.”

Nyna only nodded, and looked to Marth. “The Fire Emblem”, she explained. “It is the key to any magic lock.”

Minerva noticed how Marth’s hand settled on his back, where the emblem rested, hidden underneath his cloak.

“Worth a try”, Caeda said.

“You’ll have the entire army behind you, Marth”, Hardin said. “Aurelis stands with you, as always. We’re still expecting a Macedonan legion, lest you forget.”

 _So we are_ , Minerva silently agreed.

“A legion?” Bantu seemed offended. “Plunderers I can understand, but to camp an army on such holy grounds— The Divines would smite them for such heresy!”

“Macedon is doing a fine job in breaking traditions”, Minerva answered him coldly. “I don’t think a little heresy would stop Michalis. The Divines would have smitten him long ago if that was an option.”

Maria’s hand quietly slipped out of Minerva’s, and it made her throat clog. Maria might be right beside her, they might both be safe from the claws of his politics, but Minerva felt none of it. Michalis still held the torch against her face, burned her with his very existence.

Bantu only shook his head, his luminescent eyes on Hardin.

“No army”, he said. “I will not tolerate it. A small force, who knows to respect the ground they tread on, is the only thing I can accept. The Divines are not here to speak their will, so I take it upon me to speak for them. For this fight, I will come with you.”

Minerva swallowed her bitterness.

“We’ll be grateful for your company, Bantu.”

  _Speak for yourself, Marth_. Minerva felt the blood rush to and from her head with all the heat of enclosed anger; and yet she was also so, so cold.

“My say is this, then”, Marth continued. “We march until we reach the Fane, fight any battles we need to but keep our fliers up high for scouting to avoid fighting best we can. We camp outside the Fane, and only a small elite force follows me inside.” He quieted, frowning. “I’d like Linde, and Merric. We need a healer. Maria’s good. Caeda, you could take on any magical threat. And we need someone who can be our rear... Minerva, you and Abel go in last. We leave the Whitewings outside as scouts. Prince Hardin, you stay in command of the camp while I’m gone.”

Hardin bowed; if he had any objections on the matter, he didn’t voice them.

“Our goal is to locate the two orbs the White Sage was speaking of”, Marth went on. “The Starsphere and the Lightsphere. Nothing else – we will not touch anything we don’t need.”

“How will you find them, then? “ Nyna asked. “Do you know what they look like?”

“Well, no.” Marth’s gaze darted to and fro among them, before he shrugged. A slow, tired motion.  “There are only so many things I can plan for. I think, for this, I need to speak to Merric.”

\---

Maria left the clearing before Minerva; both she and Caeda slipped away in the darkness, while Minerva stayed and followed the manakete with her gaze. He melted out of sight without a word of farewell. Marth and Nyna lingered as well, and Minerva took the chance to grab Marth’s shoulder.

“One wish, sire”, she said while she dug her gaze into his. Marth responded with a quiet ‘ _oh?_ ’, but then waited to hear what she had to say.

“I don’t want him anywhere near me.”

“That’s not—“

“For his safety. If he acts out of line, I will not be forgiving. If you want to avoid... _misunderstandings_ , then please.” She shot him a meaning look, before she let go. Marth only let out a weak ‘ _oh_ ’ again, but then he nodded.

“Thank you for giving him a chance, Minerva.”

She suppressed the urge to scoff; she placed her palm over her heart in a salute, and left. Her mood was sour; the gleam from a manakete’s glare still prickled at her eyes like lights dancing in the night.

The League’s battles strayed further and further from the traditional fare of war into an unconventional mess of magic doors and enchanted swords – and Minerva had to take an active part in it, shoulder the burden of a leader in matters she didn’t fully understand. On top of it all, now she’d have to stand under the same banner as a _dragon_ , too.

 

The tent stood ready when Minerva returned, and Palla was nowhere to be seen. She wandered the camp in search of her, but her eyes scanned the spaces in between tents for a cloaked figure as well. She was far from the only one who would react violently to the presence of a manakete; Bantu would be a fool to make himself known, so she didn’t expect to see him. Yet she couldn’t stop her search.

Maria’s voice alerted her to take a sudden turn.

“ _Get_ her, Est!”

Minerva hurried her steps, and was met by Catria’s tent with the flap folded open and kept that way by the use of a log of firewood. Catria and Est lay on their bellies, their right hands intertwined before their faces.

“You’re sweating, Catria – I up the bid by five tin coins—“

“You don’t even _have_ five tin coins, don’t you try— Hey look, it’s Commander!“

“Nice try to distract me!”

They continued their arm wrestling without looking up, and Maria cheered them on. She’d already had the time to wrap herself in a blanket, and she was leaning close almost as if she, too, was a part of the match. Palla sat with a blanket over her shoulders too, and dozed with her head in her hand, smiled in that patient way only Palla could. Her eyes darted to Minerva, and that smile widened.

“Hey, Minerva.”

“Palla, stop trying to get me to look away! You want Catria to win, huh? Picking favorites is— Hngh—Argh—!“

Catria pushed Est’s hand to the ground with one great effort, and then let go with a laugh. “You talk _way_ too much, maybe you should focus a little bit on the game, yeah?”

Est sat up with an undignified huff. “I _was_ focused, didn’t you hear? Rematch! Now!”

Minerva felt her own lips twitch a little, and with it, she was released form some of her heavy thoughts. The voices of her family and friends shut out the rest of the world for a few, blessed moments. _Fearless Protector and her clever, trusty Whitewings._

For all its faults, it was still home.


	66. The Fane of Raman

Hundreds upon hundreds of mountains cluttered together along the entire east coast of Grust, all of them pale silver. They weren’t like the ones in Macedon or Aurelis, where the evergreens grew all the way around them like collars; the mountains of The Fane scarcely had any vegetation to speak of. It couldn’t be the drought; there simply seemed to be a void of life, though the ground didn’t feel eerie or wrong the way Khadein’s did. Palla had whispered that she thought it was ‘ _like a graveyard, for beings too ancient to be remembered even by dragons_ ’. For all they knew, it could be.

The entrance to the temple was but a gaping hole, an archway dug right into one of the pale mountain walls. The arch was unassuming, polished smooth like marble without any signs or carvings, and the opening was just big enough to fit a normal-sized manakete in human form. Had Bantu not led the way, Minerva doubted they ever would have found it; though she didn’t feel that grateful for it. He’d done nothing to make her trust him more, but he had at least not given her any reason to go through on her threats.

 

The manakete was by the entrance to the temple now, running his hand along the arch in quiet fascination. The opening was twice his height, and thus she would most likely fit in there too, even on Titania’s back; but even so, Minerva couldn’t shake her uneasy feeling about the _tightness_ of the tunnel – like it would squeeze shut behind them and leave them to wither in the darkness.

Minerva wasn’t alone in her fidgeting; Caeda brushed her fingers though her Pegasus’ mane from her saddle, and Abel’s horse paced restlessly in place without him ordering it to stop – even Marth, the supposed leader of the expedition, hesitated on the doorstep.

“We’re really doing this”, he whispered. “Gods have mercy.”

Merric was quick to stand by his side. “Would you like to hold on to me, sire?”

Marth barked a laugh, too loud to be genuine. “No, Merric, you need your hands free – Sorry, you know I’ve always been silly about confined spaces. It’s... It’s nothing I should be afraid of, and yet—“

Caeda let her Pegasus step up on the other side of him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go, Marth. I could go fetch Ogma in your stead, or you could leave it all to us—“

“No”, Marth immediately interrupted her. “I am the carrier of the Fire Emblem, without it we cannot go all the way in. No one else can carry it; so Nyna says, and I trust her. I have to go.”

Caeda’s lower lip twisted a little. She looked as though she was about to object further, but then yielded and took her hand away. “Fine. But I’ll go first.”

Marth nodded, his gaze fixed on the doorway. Caeda urged her Pegasus forward, and stopped right by the shadow of the archway.

“Linde, Merric, go right after Caeda”, Marth ordered them, his voice still shaky. “Then I and Bantu will come after you, then Maria. Minerva, Abel, you keep an eye open for any rear ambushes.”

Minerva threw a quick look on Maria. She was as pale as the mountain walls, and her hands shivered when they hugged her mending staff.

Minerva leaned down, tried to catch her gaze and get eye contact, though without much success. Maria’s eyes darted toward her, but then back to the dark opening before her. Small beads of sweat gleamed beneath her forelocks.

“Maria...”

“It’s fine”, Maria pressed forth through nearly white lips. “It’s fine, sis, really.”

Her lie cut through Minerva’s heart like a blunt butter-knife. It wasn’t too late; she could call for Marth to wait, so they could get Lena instead, anything but Maria unable to breathe as the walls closed in—

“We shouldn’t delay!” Bantu’s energetic voice from inside the cavern was most unwelcome; though it broke the dam of Maria’s paralyzation. She stood straighter and clasped her staff harder, before she stepped up to the darkness with brisk, determined steps.

Minerva had no choice but to follow. Abel trotted in after her, and with that, Marth’s entire ‘ _elite force_ ’ was inside.

The eeriness that hadn’t been present out in the strange mountain formations came washing over them as soon as the last ray of sunlight touched Minerva’s cheeks. There was a silence unlike anything else. Their steps were muffled, and even with Linde’s blazing light in the front, the darkness lay clammy against Minerva’s skin. Palla’s words seemed all the more true. ‘ _A graveyard, too ancient to be remembered_ ’. She couldn’t shake the feeling that these grounds weren’t _meant_ to be tread on. She wasn’t afraid of confinement in the same way Marth and Maria was, but her heart skipped all the same.

She put Hauteclere free and placed it over her lap, eyes set on Linde’s blaze and the wobbly gait of Maria. Her sister’s hand followed the wall – Minerva could make out the shape of her enough to tell. And the dull knife scraped at her heart once again.

_Maria..._

“So, Bantu.” Linde’s voice echoed down the hallway, distorted to Minerva’s ears. “Could you not tell us a little about this place, and your kind in general?”

“There isn’t much to tell”, came Bantu’s blunt response. “This temple was here to celebrate the Divine kind, the kind that is the most resilient to immortality’s corruption. Their presence can save us ordinary dragons from madness too, or so the theory goes. But the best way to stay sane is just to never transform.”

Minerva wasn’t sure she heard him correctly; she was only half-listening. The culture of the manakete couldn’t interest her any less. Linde on the other hand, seemed livid.

“Could you describe the process of transformation to me? It would be most valuable—“

“Do not bother me, Bright Child. As I said, there isn’t much to tell.”

 _Rather, there isn’t much he wishes to tell us_ , Minerva thought coldly. _“Nice” manakete or not, we’re insects to him, too._

“Linde, quiet down”, Marth said – he talked fast, and the pitch of his voice was higher than usual. “We’re still expecting an ambush!”

Linde muttered something in response, something impossible for Minerva to hear. Probably wasn’t important. She should stop listening in and focus on the few wyvern-lengths she could see ahead of her, and on the fluttering shadows along the walls. She regretted every step she ordered Titania to take; the further in she went, the clearer the image became of Palla’s gaze pinned into hers.

 _Don’t you dare die in there_ , that gaze had said, honed by a will of iron.

Minerva could tell herself over and over that she wasn’t afraid, it wouldn’t exactly help. But she _wasn’t_ afraid, not objectively; if only her pulse would calm down and her throat become less dry, she’d be fine.

She glanced backwards, to set her thoughts on the present. If Michalis’ hypothetical trap were to be worth any salt, he’d close them in. Cause a rockslide, or have Macedonan infantry rush in and hack them to pieces from behind. Though it seemed almost ridiculous to expect it now, since there hadn’t been any trace of a Macedonan encampment. Not anywhere on the mountain. The Whitewing’s scouting attested to that.

Of course, Michalis’ army could be skilled at hiding – who knew how fliers scouted better than Macedonans? Though, at the same time, the mere thought that humans were anywhere near them was absurd. The darkness was empty and lonely, as if they were the only ones left in the world, sucked into a place where humanity simply didn’t exist. But there was _something_ , and that something was suffocating.

She was probably just conjuring ghosts out of vivid imagination. She shouldn’t let her thoughts drift so far—

Her thoughts were cut short by a voice, like the hiss of a cold breeze through the corridors.

“Defiliers... in the fane... Punish them...”

It moved like a shiver through the walls, coated the air like ice. Another voice blended with it, filled with excitement.

“Tiki!” Bantu called. Minerva could see his cloak flail as he twisted and turned in an attempt to look all around him at once. “It’s her! By Naga! She’s here! She’s— _Augh—_ ”

Linde’s light was cut short by a shadow moving through it, and it reflected the gleam of an oiled knife’s edge before it was driven right into Bantu’s chest.

Minerva reacted immediately. Despite being in the back lines, she shucked a throwing axe as hard as she could. It swished past Caeda and knocked the shape backwards as the axe dug into its skull. With a hiss, the shadow dissolved back into darkness.

 _Curses and blood_. Minerva panted as she drew another axe, her wild pulse spreading up into her skull. _Not more magic_.

Maria had let go of the wall, and was running steadily, devoid of fear. “Hold on, Bantu, I’ll be right there!”

Minerva hunted for more shadows around Maria, but nothing could be seen in the obscure gloom.

“Haah”, she heard from behind her. She cast a quick look. Abel swung his lance around, smashed one of the creatures back into the darkness. “What _are_ they?”

Titania let out a cry, took a shaky step to the side as flames began to surround her. Minerva threw another axe, and another creature dissolved. The fire died away with it.

“Who _cares_ what they are”, Minerva yelled back. “They can be killed, just like anyone else!”

She dug Hauteclare into a shape that jumped towards her. Linde turned her back and penetrated all darkness with her Aura magic.

The flash blinded Minerva; she held Hauteclare in front of her face as protection as she shut her eyes closed. For that moment, all was still.

“Keep going!” Linde shouted through the blazing light. “These are soldiers born from dark magic! I’ll make quick work of them.”

Minerva blinked furiously, tried to follow the front with her eyes. Linde pushed her way forward, and she shone in the dark like a star. Or Minerva’s eyes were still shocked from the flash and saw light where there was none.

“There’s bound to be more of them”, Marth called out, “stay alert – kill anything that threatens you.”

“This isn’t right”, Minerva heard Bantu moan. So, he was still alive. “Such darkness... It’s not the work of the Divines... Should not... be here...”

 _It definitely isn’t the work of Macedon either_ , Minerva thought, and threw another axe toward a shadow that materialized behind Caeda.  
  
“Remember to keep your eyes open for those orbs”, Marth voice cut through the chaos.

As if _that_ was Minerva’s highest priority. One of the creatures appeared out of nowhere and dived at her. It landed in front of her in the saddle, balanced unnaturally on Titania’s neck. Its movements were quick, erratic; it stretched out its hands and caught Hauteclere’s shaft. Held onto it with surprising strength, black claws clicking against each other as it leaned its face close to Minerva’s.

Its features were mostly human, save for the skin that was a light gray, wrinkled into obscurity.  It reminded Minerva of something, but she couldn’t really reflect on it. She pushed back against its hold on her. It didn’t budge. She was locked and her back was completely exposed, black teeth closing in.

She stared at the creature for a moment, eyes wide, before she let out a yell and smashed her forehead onto its nose.

The creature jerked backwards from the blow, and then dissolved as a flash of lightning burned a hole in its chest. Maria appeared from behind the wisp of smoke, and leaned on Titania’s front leg. She breathed heavily, her legs shaking.

“Help”, Maria croaked. She seemed so weak, yet Earth magic still embraced Minerva.

Minerva didn’t ask, she didn’t think, she only grabbed hold of Maria and pulled her up into the saddle. Maria’s head leaned against her with an exhausted sigh.

“Healing Bantu was tricky”, Maria mumbled. “Might’ve... Taken more than I had in me...”

Minerva placed a hand around her waist and dug Hauteclere into another hissing creature, trying her best to hush Maria at the same time.

“Don’t talk”, she said. “Rest.”

Maria’s head lolled a bit as she hummed. Minerva held her tighter, swept her axe at any movement in the darkness. There was no end to them; the more she killed the more she had to face, and they crawled on the ceiling and walls like spiders.

“Get a move on, back there!” came a voice from the front. Amongst the hundreds of hissing shadows, the typical tell in the voice of the manakete was impossible to spot, and yet Minerva was certain it was Bantu. He was spry for getting a knife through his chest. Minerva clutched Maria, her heart a hammer in her chest.

_If she’s sacrificed her permanent health for that scaly bastard I’ll—_

“It’s the central chamber”, Bantu continued to yell. “We’ve reached it! Hurry up!”

Minerva clenched her teeth. _Get back here and fight by yourself if you’re so concerned_.

Another blazing light shot through the darkness, pierced Minerva's eyes. She had caught, during that mere moment, the shape of a door larger than any she’d seen, just a few wyvern lengths ahead.

“It won’t budge!” Linde cried. “I can’t get it open—“

“It’s the Divine Lock”, Bantu yelled back. “Marth, go, and quickly now!”

Minerva had reached them, now. Huddled tight in the corridor, the very shadows stretched out their arms as to grab them. Marth, pale in the flickering light, heaved the Fire Emblem off him and held it against the door.

“It’s working!” he cried. “Everyone, get inside!”

The giant doors only slid up in the slightest, but it was enough to have the ones without mounts slip inside, and Minerva could pry them open further with Hauteclere, even if it strained at her muscles like she was attempting to lift Titania right off the ground. Caeda covered her from any shadows. The swish of her lance sometimes bumped into Minerva as well, not that any of them cared. It was pitch dark, save from the small strip of light from the doorway; but they managed to push through.

“Get those doors closed!” Marth yelled. Minerva did not have to be told twice; as soon as Abel had galloped inside, she slammed them shut.

Minerva had Hauteclere ready, and she allowed herself a deep breath before she searched the room for any of the shadows that might have slipped in after them.

To her surprise, the room was devoid of them. All she could see along the walls was intricate paintings paled by time, and heaps of gleaming weapons and oozing gold. There wasn’t even a hammering of hands against the door, like she’d expected. The shadows did not attempt to break in. A creeping horror told Minerva that these creatures might not _want_ to follow them, out of fear for what was in there with them. And as her eyes landed on the broken throne in the middle of the room, she knew the creeping horror was correct.

Around the ancient stones was a golden manakete, the size of a horse. Its eyes gave off a green light, its scales fluttered like soft shawls. Minerva’s senses clashed against each other in conflict; the marvelous beauty in stark contrast to the raw fear inside her. The dragon was a tiny ant in the grand temple hall, the yet there was no doubt that it and it alone was the source of light in the room.  
  
“Defiliers...” the dragon whispered, and the sound reached into the very core of Minerva’s mind. “... Die... All of you...”

“Tiki!” Bantu cried out. “Tiki, my child! At last, I have found you!”

The tiny dragon flickered, turned into a human shape. The human had the round face of a toddler, without the typical manakete wings on her back; though that was the only human things about her. Her eyes stared out into nothingness, face impassive like she’d never seen joy.

“Stop”, the voice echoed over the halls, as her shape once again transformed into a dragon. Her accent was unfamiliar to Minerva’s ears, like every vowel was dragged out. “Come no... closer...”

“Has she gone berserk, like other manakete?” Caeda shouted, her lance hoisted at the small figure with a distant gaze.

Bantu only waved her spear away.

“No, no”, he said, and stepped forward. “This is a curse of some kind. Poor thing.”

“It’s the work of Gharnef”, Linde said. “This... This whole thing _reeks_ of his aura. I can try to lift it—”

“No, Bright Child, there’s no need”, Bantu said as he walked closer. “A curse like this could not possibly truly fester in her mind. She’s just frightened, and that’s what allows the curse to control her. Peace, dear child, peace.”

 The dragon turned back into a human, and Bantu took her hand in his.

“Awaken.”

The manakete immediately stopped her flickering.

“Mmm?” she murmured. Her voice sounded more or less normal apart from her accent, and the hovering light in the room became brighter. “... Ban-Ban? Is that you?”

Bantu chuckled, a sound of relief. “Yes, child, ‘tis I, ‘tis I. How I worried! Are you hurt?”

Tiki shook her head, looking around with wide eyes. “No, Ban-Ban, just... Just scared... I did as you told me! I ran east for four days straight and then I hid! It was a _really_ good hiding place, but then...” Her mouth formed a perfect circle as she looked around the room, then back on Bantu. “I feel as though I just woke from an awful nightmare, Ban-Ban, I don’t understand...”

Minerva dismounted with Maria still in her arms, and Maria made no attempt to put her feet on the ground. Minerva stepped a little bit closer to the manaketes, then stopped.

“I am truly sorry, my child”, Bantu said. “Truly. I will not let us be separated again. From now on, all of us will be there to protect you.”

“You won’t ask me to run? Promise?” The divine dragon brushed green forelocks out of her eyes. “You have to promise, Ban-Ban. I hate being alone...”

Bantu bowed his head “Princess. I promise. Happy nine-hundred-year nameday, in arrears. Sorry I couldn’t find you before then. And we had such a feast planned, didn’t we!”

“It’s all right”, Tiki said with a small, shy smile. “I bet there are plenty of sugar cookies wherever we are now!”

The manakete princess moved to stand beside Bantu, while she tilted her head to gape at the ceiling.  When she stopped, whatever fearsome aura around her had nearly vanished; most of it by virtue of her size. Bantu was not a big manakete, but she was smaller than a bag of potatoes. Including her crown that at least made her seem taller, she was no bigger than Maria.

Tiki finally stopped gawking, and her eyes met Minerva’s, then travelled to each of the League soldiers.

“Ohh”, she said. “Hello, humans! I don’t think we’re in a bakery, but do you have anything tasty? I’m...” She put her hands over her belly with a confused frown. “...I’m _starving_!”

Everyone was silent and unmoving, save from Maria who lifted a hand into a weak wave, and Caeda who began searching through her saddle pouch with trembling fingers. Then she fished out a dry-looking bread, and dismounted, extended the bread toward Tiki with all the humility of a worshipper making an offering to their god.

“Here you go”, she said in a quiet, uncertain voice. “It’s not sugar cookies but... it has dried apple in it.”

Tiki’s eyes widened, and reverently took the gift. “Oh! I love apples! Thank you so much!”

Minerva pulled at Titania’s reins to move slightly closer; there was a pull to the tiny dragon, she couldn’t deny that, but there was also some hesitation in her. Minerva senses still clashed – there was no doubt in her mind that the creature before her was beyond powerful, and another part of her thought of her as ‘ _just like Maria_ ’. When Tiki chewed into her sweet treat, she looked just like Maria whenever she’d been offered mulberry cake as a toddler.

“Del-i-ciouuus”, the child sang, and then her sparkling green eyes looked to Minerva, then Abel, and at last, Marth. “And...” She quieted, and looked up on Bantu with pleading eyes. “May I ask who they are, or is that dangerous? I’m not supposed to talk to humans, right—?”

“This is the Archanean League, Tiki”, Bantu explained with a smile. He didn’t really answer her question, but Tiki only nodded and looked back on Marth without complaint.

“I met them just after those mean dragons tried to hunt us down”, Bantu explained further. “They’ve been protecting me while I looked for you, and they’re all very friendly.”

Minerva couldn’t help her eye twitch, but wouldn’t do anything to contradict him. She was tired of manakete and the buzz in her head telling her that she should either fight or run – although she didn’t seethe with anger as she looked at Tiki. There was a power resting in the unnaturally bright green of her eyes, a power beyond that of Khozen or Mannu; and in contrast from them it wasn’t raging like a wildfire, it was the calm but burning twinkle of a star.

“We’ve crossed the entire continent together”, Bantu continued; “to bring the fight to old Medeus.”

“Like Mother did?” Tiki gasped. “Oh, I’d like to do that too! It’s what I’ve been saying – we shouldn’t let him war with the humans! I’ll stop him!”

Bantu laughed; it was a gentle sound, very unfamiliar to Minerva. “That we’ll have to discuss, child. But not now.” He put a hand on her back and pointed at Marth. “That is their leader, and our good friend, Marth. Yes, you may go and say hi.”

Tiki needed no more prompting. She ran toward Marth, trotting like a toddler. It was strange to Minerva how Bantu had mentioned a ‘ _nine-hundred year nameday_ ’, and the creature in question acting so childishly; on the other hand, centuries were nothing to the manakete.

“So, you are Tiki”, Marth greeted her when she reached him. He crouched down before her, and that made them almost the same size. He wasn’t as unsure about her presence as Caeda had been; the diplomat in him seemed confident enough to speak face to face with a god. “Bantu had told me about you. I’m Marth.”

“Ban-Ban just told me about you too”, the dragon-child answered, her voice like a singing blackbird. “Thanks for keeping him safe! I’m gonna travel the world with him, but I don’t have to do that right _now_ -now. I have to do important grown-up things, first! Medeus was mean to me and gave me to a sorcerer, and the sorcerer, he...” Tiki trailed off with a grimace. “... He only fed me oatmeal! And he said he’d kill Ban-Ban if he found him, and so many mean things!”

The light brightened around her as she clenched her fists, then she glanced back on Bantu.

“He said he’d control me, but I told him he never could because he’s stupid and... and... He put me here and it was super scary, and...” Tiki trailed away, but then she looked back on Marth with a determined face. “Will you take me with you?”

“Of course, Tiki, as long as that’s what you want.” Marth didn’t skip a beat, as usual.

“Yes, yes it is!” Tiki’s mood changed as quickly as the wind in a storm, it seemed; now she danced in place, her hands clutched into fists in excitement. “I want to see the whole world! I want to help the humans! Oh, thank you, Mar-Mar!”

Caeda, who had broken free from her stunned silence and grown visibly more comfortable in the presence of the goddess, snorted, and covered her mouth to try and hide it. Marth only blinked.

“... Mar-Mar?”

Tiki stopped short, her large eyes shrinking in fear of being scolded. “Am I not allowed to call you that?”

“N—“ Marth begun, before he swallowed his words and immediately continued; “that is... er... Well, if you want to?”

Tiki’s face split into a large smile, and she took his hand in both of hers, and shook it with enough intensity to rattle his entire arm. “All right! Thank you, Mar-Mar!”

The small dragon let go in the same movement, and had already begun to move past Marth before he had time to speak again. Her next stop was in front of Titania. Minerva tensed from being so close to her all of a sudden, but Titania let out a relaxed snort and nudged Tiki’s face. Then, she rested her head on the floor, even lay down with a quiet and content huff.

“Beautifuuul!” The dragon sang, and placed her hands along her bridle. She looked up on Minerva. “Can she talk?”

Minerva opened her mouth but didn’t answer immediately.

“No”, Minerva said unsurely. “But... I feel like we understand each other.”

Tiki brushed her fingers over Titania’s forehead in awe, then she beamed at Minerva. “Well, you tell her she’s marvelous, then!”

Minerva smiled. Perhaps she could learn to like this manakete, after all; although that thought froze in place when Tiki frowned, and arose to touch Maria’s knee.

“Are you all right?” Tiki’s accent was an even stranger thing to hear up close. “You’re very Earthy, you know. But you’re Light-y, too! It’s drained though, and dark-ish! Why?”

Maria smiled at her and did a small, shrugging motion. Tiki extended her hand, offered it. Maria took it, unsurely. It was a brief handshake, but in that short moment, Minerva could feel Maria’s back muscles tense with newfound strength. When Tiki let go, Maria wasn’t as pale, either.

“It’s ugly, this darkness!” Tiki said, and stepped away from them. She looked over the entire room again, and stopped by a pillar where there was a painting of a large, green and gold dragon granting a shining sword to a human with long, sky blue hair.

“It’s not supposed to be this murky”, the child said, in a voice that suddenly wasn’t her own. “A sorcerers’ darkness cannot fester in Divine air, so I say!”

She spun around and lifted her arms. The great doors slammed open, and the dark corridors shone with the same light as in the room; without a clear source. This light was a part of the air, and the thick gloom no longer itched close on Minerva’s skin. There was no sign of any shadow creatures hunting for them in the corridors, either.

“Better, better”, Tiki sang, in her regular voice.

Prince Marth carefully stepped forward. “Ahem, well, Tiki. It’s nice to meet you—“

“You too, Mar-Mar”, Tiki immediately beamed back, and Marth’s gaze shot to Caeda as if expecting her to laugh again.

“As nice as it is”, he continued; “My friends and I came here to find two... two _things_ that we need. And this temple is sort of yours, in a way. Do we have your permission to search the place? We promise to put everything we don’t need right back where we found it.”

The manakete clapped her hands. “Ohh, yes, a treasure hunt! Sounds fun! Absolutely!”

Marth turned his head. “Alright, friends – collect any... Collect all round things you see and bring them to the middle of the room. I hope we’ll figure out which are the magic spheres and which are not.”

Maria puzzled out of Minerva’s support with a heavy breath, and when her feet touched the ground, she was able to stand upright.

 “Here we go”, she muttered. “I feel a little better, now.”

Minerva loosened her grip. “What did she do to you?”

Maria tilted her head up, watched the tiny dragon run to the corner of the room with Bantu’s hand in hers, and smiled.

“I think... I think I was careless when I healed Bantu. I don’t know how manakete work, and I might have absorbed some of the dark magic from his injury in me. But Tiki... Took that away. I think.” Maria shrugged, and smiled wider. “I like her. But hey. I always knew the Divines were nice.”

\---

Their search went on for hours. The temple hall was large enough to fit a sermon for dozens of transformed manakete, so walking from one end of the room to the other was like crossing an entire town. Treasures of all kinds lined the walls and littered around the pillars, so for what felt like an eternity, all that could be heard was the echo of goblets and the rustle of necklaces from all over.

In the end, a neat pile of golden plates, rings, rounded jewels and mirrors lay on the floor. Abel was the last one to throw a circular spoon on the pile.

“Let’s see here, then”, Marth said and lifted some objects at random. “I suppose we’re looking for a, well... Something that just seems especially magical.”

Minerva picked up an arm-ring, marked with unknown crests and writings. She turned it, looked through it, and lifted it higher in attempt to look useful, even though she really couldn’t imagine telling if anything was magical at all.

“Hold on”, Linde gasped and snatched something from Abel’s hands. “This... Merric – come, look at this too!”

The young mage leaned over to Linde, squinted down at the small orb in her hand.

“I’m not as good as you are at tracing”, he began. “But yeah, it... feels very _light_.”

“You’re not wrong – it’s like my aura-tome”, Linde whispered. “But as if Aura was a droplet and this was an ocean. Amazing.”

She waved the small sphere in front of Marth.  “This _has_ to be one of them, Marth, I swear on my father's memory!”

“Then this one looks pretty similar”, Maria said as she lifted another orb between two fingers. That one was slightly violet instead of transparent.

“It _is_ ”, Linde exclaimed, and gently let it roll into the palm of her other hand. She looked up on Marth, with a wide smile. “Sire, we have found them.”

“Fantastic”, Marth sighed of relief. “I don’t doubt my two best magic tracers.”

“We’re the _only_ magic tracers, sire”, Merric objected.

Marth, who had already began walking away with his arms full with gold to put back by the walls, crouched by Merric’s side and nudged his back with an elbow.

“Why, aren’t I lucky, then, to also have the best ones!”

Merric rolled his eyes and let out a short laugh, and leaned into the pile to fill his robes with trinkets as well.

“Let’s put this stuff back”, Marth said to the rest of them. “Then we can leave this hole in the ground.”  
  
Minerva filled her own arms with gems and ornaments, trying her best to remember where she’d seen all of it. She finally dumped it all in a pile in one corner, and she saw Abel do the same on the opposite end of the room. Marth may have exaggerated when he promised everything would be put back at exactly the right place.

When Minerva returned to Titania, Tiki was there too. She gently petted the wyvern’s head. Titania lay low, as if always making sure she was never looking down on the small dragon child. In contrast to her earlier sour mood following her injury, this healed Titania looked as threatening as a large, scaly sheep.

“She’s so nice”, Tiki beamed up at Minerva. “I’ve met wild wyverns, and they tried to bite Bantu. That was _not_ nice.”

Minerva thought it best not to mention that she’d been close to ordering Titania to bite Bantu as well. She crouched on the other side of Titania, brushed her own fingers over her scales. Minerva wasn’t afraid of the goddess beside them; how could she be, when her mount was this calm?

“I can... imagine”, she answered Tiki. “Wyvern teeth hurt lots.”

Tiki’s eyes widened, and she pulled back her hand. “Has she bitten you? She does that?!”

Minerva moved her hands to place them around Titania’s bridle, and smiled at the red eye that peered up at her.

“No, not anymore”, Minerva answered. “She’s always been my friend, and she’s learned she can’t play that rough with humans. And if anyone’s nice to me, she’s nice to them, too. You needn’t worry.”

Titania smacked with her tongue, then looked back up on Tiki with a purr.

“Oh, yay! She likes me!” Tiki giggled, and started petting Titania again. Then she looked up on Minerva, eyes glowing. “So... Can she be my friend too? Where does she live?”

“Oh”, was all Minerva was able to say at first, as her senses were reminded that she spoke to a manakete, and not an actual human child. “She... she lives in the camp? We have a stable, sort of, even though it’s just a few poles hammered into the ground and some protection from rain and cold—”

“Can I come to visit her often?”

“Uh...” Minerva glanced down on Titania’s half-closed eyes. There was no sign of discomfort in her. “Yes... She wouldn’t mind, I don’t think. She really seems to like you. Let her sleep when she sleeps, though. I don’t know how you dragons nap, but wyverns go pretty deep.”

Tiki stopped stroking the scales, her face gone impassive in an instant. “Mm, us dragons do that too”, she said, before her expression relieved a little, and she gave Titania a final pat on the cheek. “I gotta go! Bye for now, friend. Bye, red lady.”

She turned, and walked away to Bantu. The rest of the party was preparing to set off, and Minerva gently pulled at Titania’s bridle. “Time to get up, lazy-bones.”

Titania smacked with her tongue again, this time a bit more annoyed, but she obliged and got to standing. Minerva mounted in one swift movement. They soon turned their back on the hall, and followed the corridors toward the fresh winds of the outside world. The doors slammed shut behind them, and, in Minerva’s opinion, she hoped they’d never be opened again.

 


	67. Catria's Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Happy Birthday, Princess of Dawn!
> 
> Thank you for all your amazing support!

Princess Nyna was the first thing they saw in the light of the end of the tunnel.

“Prince Marth”, her voice echoed down to them. “Divines be blessed!”

“That saying’s so strange to hear, now”, Maria murmured in the saddle. Maria had insisted she could walk, but Minerva wouldn’t hear it, and Maria didn’t object to the free ride for long. She sat relaxed, head against Minerva’s shoulder.

“Tell us, was it a success? Did you locate the spheres?” Nyna’s eyes darted to and fro between them, as they all exited the now brightly lit cave.

Marth answered by gesturing to Linde, who in turn patted a pouch in her belt. Nyna visibly relaxed. A small smile played on her otherwise neutral expression, but that smile died away as the last two of Marth’s so-called ‘ _elite force_ ’ exited the corridor.

“And who’s this?”

Tiki, with a crown far more intricate than the one the empress wore, still stopped and stared at the gold over Nyna’s brow. She mouthed ‘ _oh, prettyyy_ ’, before Marth put a careful hand on her shoulder.

“This... is Tiki.”

Nyna’s head reared back a little at that.

“The Divine Dragon?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, and didn’t hesitate before she went down on her knee and bowed her head in Tiki’s direction. Midia, who was at her side as always, stared at her liege in horror, but Nyna didn’t seem to pay her any mind.

“Your Exalted Excellence”, Nyna greeted.

“Um, hi”, Tiki answered. “You’re excellent too, I guess.”

There was a low chuckle from behind her before Bantu cleared his throat, and he crouched down beside his protégé. He had his cloak over one arm; didn’t bother with hiding his wings, anymore. The wrinkles on his face were now those of a man who had smiled most his life.

”You remember what we said about talking to humans?”

Tiki frowned, and nodded with a hint of shame. Bantu smiled wider.

“Well, forget that, now. This camp is full of humans; and you may talk to _each and every single one of them_ , if you’d like!”

Tiki’s shame disappeared in the shadow of her joy. “Oh, _really_? I wanna do it now! Come on, Ban-Ban!”

The child ran with Bantu’s sleeve in her hand, down the slope of the mountain. Minerva quietly considered that maybe not every human would be as excited as Tiki was in a conversation, but she shook off her doubts. Bantu had had valid reasons for hiding, but Tiki... Even Minerva’s heart had thawed for her after mere minutes; who could even dream of wishing her harm?

The manakete were soon gone from sight, the only trace of them was Nyna, still on one knee, and Midia who stared open-mouthed down the mountain slope, like a whirlwind had passed them by.

Maria was not paying any of the others any attention; her eyes were set to the heavens. She let out a small sigh and leaned over Titania’s saddle front, just to watch the clouds.

“The sky’s so beautiful”, she said. “I love it so, so much. That was the last time we went in under a mountain, right? Please say yes.”

Minerva laughed and hugged her slightly. “If there’s another one, I’m sure I can tear it down for you.”

Maria scoffed at that, and clasped her hands behind her own neck as she looked up into the sky. Minerva watched it with her, followed the clouds as they softly enclosed the mountain tops around them. There wasn’t a single bird in the sky, but three flying scouts made their rounds past them just then, and caught sight of Minerva. Even on the ground, Minerva could hear their excited yells and see Est’s over-the-top hand signals.

“Quite honestly”, Marth said, and drew Minerva’s attention back to their near surroundings. “There are lots of things that we ought to discuss. We’ll have to council it. There’s no need for you to be there, Linde; if I change my mind I will let you know, but as for now... I’ll see the rest of you in an hour. Can you let Hardin know of our plans, Nyna? I really need something to eat.”

“And I need a nap”, Maria murmured, and slipped out of the saddle. “Thanks for the ride, sis.”

“That’s nothing. Thanks yourself, for lighting one of those shadow bastards up for me.”

Maria laughed a little, rested with her arms over Titania’s neck. “You could’ve headbutted it to death yourself, but I thought I’d spare your brains that experience.”

“Very thoughtful of you to consider that. Better save what little I have, right?”

“What? Minerva.” Maria stepped closer and put a hand on her knee. “You’re not stupid, that’s just what... That’s just what Michalis says. Don’t let it get to you. It’s not true.”

Minerva smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. _This is the perfect opportunity_ , her thoughts whispered to her. _Come on! Talk to her!_

She was ready, now; all her fear had been spent and all her doubts smothered by the darkness. It would have been so easy, if her eyes hadn’t stuck on the dark pits in Maria’s cheeks and the shadows below her shimmering red gaze. Her eyelids drooped and her lips had a downward twist.

So it wasn’t fear that stopped her this time, but the soft ache in a big sister’s heart. She stroked Maria’s head.

“Sleep well, sister dear”, was all she said.

Maria hesitated, but then she nodded, and left in the direction of the camp with only a quick wave at Est who was nearing the ground. The youngest Whitewing sister trotted down and gave a quick salute to both of them before she stopped beside Abel.

“Hey”, Minerva overheard her. “How did it go?”

Minerva couldn’t help peeking over at them; she was still drawn to Est’s presence, as if she still couldn’t believe she had returned. And she was, admittedly a bit curious.

Abel seemed surprised to see Est, but it wasn’t a bad kind of surprise. He tilted his head slightly, and his smile was genuine.

“Can’t complain”, he answered. “Some dark magic gave us quite a scare, but we overcame it.”

Est whistled quietly. “Ohh, dark magic, huh? You’ve got to tell me all about that!”

Abel looked to the side and stroked his horse’s mane. “Actually, Dess needs to rest, I was heading for the stables—”

“Me _too_!” Est said. Her voice got louder for each sentence she spoke, and her throat flushed as pink as the hair on her head. Minerva had never seen that before; Est was always so carefree, she seemed to be above embarrassment.

“I just got off duty”, Est continued, so quickly she stumbled over her words; “and Yolva needs some taking care of— Oh, wait, maybe that was a polite way of saying you’d like to be alone? That’s fine in that case, I mean, Catria uses the stable-excuse all the time to avoid being around people, I get it—“

 “No, it’s fine”, Abel interrupted her, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes, with a slight blush of his own over his cheeks. “I’d love to have your company, lady Firefly.”

Minerva fiddled with her reins in an attempt to look busy when Est and Abel rode past her, as a way to hide the grin on her face. Her first plan had been to let Titania settle in the stables, but now she didn’t have the heart to impose on Est. She glanced up into the sky. The rest of the fliers had gone lower as well.

Catria was the first to land, with her hand shading her eyes as she looked after Est.

“Can’t believe she _ditched_ us”, Catria said as her greeting. “I told her to ask you and Maria to join us, but with that guy around, she has the attention span of a butterfly. I’m not even joking.”

She gave Minerva a quick glance, and cleared her throat. “Ahem. Anyway. Good to see you well, Commander. Palla has been making such a fuss about you ever since you left.”

“I have not!” Palla’s voice swished past, as she galloped around and stopped before Minerva. She let her Pegasus walk closer, until they were side by side. “I am a _professional_ , Catria. How dare you imply otherwise!”

 Minerva only stretched out her hand, reached for Palla’s cheek. Palla dug her fingers into the sleeve beneath Minerva’s gauntlet, relief visible in the way her eyes closed.

“Cute”, Catria teased. “You gonna ask, Palla, or d’you have the attention span of a butterfly too?”

Palla’s eyes half-opened, her smile breaking into a little laugh, where her front teeth became visible. Minerva’s heart quivered at the sight.

“You see, dear”, Palla began. “Catria insists that you come to fly with her too, sometime.”

“I don’t insist! I just mean, it would be nice to just have a... good, calm sky-time together, instead of all the battles and things!”

“I cannot deny that”, Palla smiled, and met Minerva’s gaze. “Now, I told her you might not be free, Minerva, but—“

“A leisure flight sounds lovely”, Minerva softly interrupted her. “I have an hour to spare. And you’re not too tired for a little flying, are you?” The last she directed at Titania, with a pat on her neck. The wyvern stretched her wings in response, and that was answer enough. She was still keen on flying every chance she got, ever since her wing had healed.

“All right!” Catria exclaimed. “Just gonna... Hey, Caeda? You have some time to kill? Hardin said we didn’t need scoutin’ after y’all came back from the temple, and...” She seemed to lose her trail of thought as both Marth and Caeda turned their gaze toward her, and only gestured with her hand in the air. “You know, just askin’.”

Caeda took a few steps away from Marth, one last look over her shoulder at him and the mages. “A flight sounds lovely. I feel like I need a great dose of sky after being underground for what felt like forever. Will you do fine, Marth?”

Marth bobbed his head to his sides, pretending to think it over. “I can probably walk down a mountain slope without getting ambushed.”

“We can keep watch over you from above, sire”, Catria quickly interjected. “Really, that would be no problem at all, I just mean—“

Marth raised a hand, with a small grin on his face. “Thank you, but I can manage. Be seeing you.”

He began his descent, Merric beside him and Linde right after with her hands over her pouch. Caeda watched them until they reached the base of the mountain, before she turned to Catria.

“Let’s be off, shall we?”

“Yeah, let’s”, Catria said, still flustered. “I don’t like this place. I’ve got to say, Caeda, you and Commander were immensely brave to go in that hole in the ground. I wouldn’t go there unless someone dragged me with them. Prefer to stay where I know what to expect.”

“Really”, Minerva teased as she leaned over to adjust Titania’s saddle for flying. “I thought I remember you taking measures to explore unfamiliar ground quite a few times before?”

Catria’s eyes narrowed. “Are you relating to the incidents where I tasted hay? Palla, you _reminded_ her?”

In the corner of Minerva’s eyes, she noticed how Palla shrugged and smiled. Catria put her hands on her hips.

“Sis, you’re a demon.”

“Hold up, you tasted hay?” Caeda leaned in to ask.

Catria pulled at her own headband in frustration. “Ugh, yes I did, it was _years_ ago—“

“Hey, me too!” Caeda smiled a little wider, and Catria froze in the middle of her movement. She slowly raised a finger, her eyes growing narrower.

“More than once?”

“Well, of course”, Caeda answered. “You’d have to get more than one straw to build your opinion. I mean, what if the straw you ate was the only one that tasted bad—?”

Catria did an animated wave in Caeda’s direction and looked meaningfully on Palla. “ _Exactly_!”

Palla only shook her head, with her knowing smile still displayed, before she took to the air. Minerva gave Titania a careful command to get airborne – more of a suggestion than an order just to be sure that she wasn’t too tired. She needn’t have worried. Titania shot after Palla’s Pegasus with an excited bugle, and bent her head upward so that the air fanned under her chin; Minerva could feel the purrs from deep in her throat as she placed her face near her neck. They were gaining air, and the ground was soon lost beneath them. The clouds lay low over the mountain.

Minerva righted herself, her fingers freezing inside her gauntlet. Spring was closing in, but in the sky, the air around them was as clear as crystal, like the void of winter. Minerva welcomed the harsh winds against her cheeks, let them wash off all darkness that stuck to her skin.

She leaned her head back, let Titania soar freely at Palla’s side. Like daisies plopping out of the ground, Catria and Caeda shot forth from beneath the clouds, and joined them.  Catria nudged into Caeda, a playful move that left Caeda’s laugh as an echo in this secret land only flier knew.

They huddled together, and Catria tried to communicate by yells; quite unsuccessfully, but the smiles were genuine all the same. Minerva closed her eyes, let the wind bite her skin. She could spend days up here.

An hour would pass almost too quickly.


	68. Favorite Places

“Nice to see you again”, Marth greeted.  His tent smelled of freshly cooked meat, and he hugged an empty bowl in his hands. He looked as though he was just about to fall asleep, his eyes only half open and his head bent.

On his shoulder, a tiny child rested her head. She, in contrast to Marth, was _definitely_ asleep.

“Nice to see you too, it’s been _too long_ ”, Caeda answered Marth with a teasing smile, and sat down on the other side of him. “So, is... Is Tiki joining us, then?”

Hardin entered after Minerva, then Nyna and Maria joined. All had the same question as Caeda in their eyes.

Marth only shrugged with his free shoulder. “She played the goddess-card. Couldn’t say no. Oh, and also—” Marth pointed at one of the documents spread out over the ground in the tent. “—she’s circled all the important places we need to visit. Caeda, did you know that Mubberjack Inn on Talys has the best-tasting fish pie on the continent? At least according to this little dragon.”

“Clearly a high priority”, Hardin said icily. 

Marth gave him a small smile, ignored his cold tone. “You don’t find it at least a little bit fascinating that one of the Divines has been wandering the land for years... In search for yummy food, funny stories to tell and pretty places to nap? I think it’s sweet. There may be a war ravaging our lives, but there are still good things left to look for.”

Caeda only smiled and patted him on the back. “And that’s why we fight.”

“Right”, Marth said as he carefully corrected himself without risking waking Tiki. “So. Let us begin.”

Maria had sat down beside Minerva, mirroring Tiki’s pose by carefully leaning against her. She then yawned and rubbed an eye with her finger. Minerva slid her arm around her back to support her.

“Linde has the two spheres for safekeeping”, Marth begun. “And our goal may be to find Gotoh in Macedon, but for us to cross the sea again... We risk Grust attacking our rear, unless we finish them off. We’ll move very close to their capital, and that must be where King Ludwik keeps his last forces.”

Princess Nyna stiffened, and she threw a frightened glance on Marth. “You mean to lay siege?”

“Yes.” Before Nyna could speak again, Marth held up a hand. “I realize that this time, General Camus will be there to meet us. We may have crippled Grust at the northern border, but they will regroup under their First General and stand in our way again. We cannot afford that risk.”

“Marth...” Nyna began, but was interrupted by Prince Hardin.

“For the peace I dearly seek for Aurelis, I agree that we must take them on.” Hardin bent his head slightly. “My brother’s spies have just gotten word that King Ludwik of Grust has taken ill. He won’t be around for long, they say, and his children are but toddlers. The kingdom is at its weakest. What I mean by that is... We might not have to lay siege to the capital, we merely need to crush the last of their army. That will be defeat enough.”

Minerva found some relief with that. One less castle to crowd in. But she didn’t speak. She found it hard to care what happened to Grust. Macedon felt closer than ever; each time she thought of her home, it was like smoke billowed out from the east and spread Michalis’ poison all the way over to her. It caused her arms to feel limp, and her heart to freeze in her chest.

“That is... good”, Nyna said uncertainly. “Perhaps... Perhaps Camus is in the castle, so that we do not need to face him...”

“I find that unlikely”, Caeda said with a nod to Minerva. “Camus is the patch that keeps Grust together. If we march on the capital, he _will_ face us as their general.”

Nyna drew a deep breath, and bent her head. She didn’t say anything.

“Empress...” Marth clasped his hands, careful not to wake the sleeping dragon beside him. “You’ve told us Camus is not like the rest of the blindly obedient Grustian elites...”

“No, he _is_ like them”, Nyna whispered. “But if there is... a cause that is important enough... Maybe, he will think for himself. He set me free, disobeyed every possible order to do so... I... I do not know him as well as I’d like, but my heart... My heart tells me his place is with us.”

“He would not be the first to be kept loyal by threats and fear”, Marth said. “I will attempt to speak with him, if I can find him on the battlefield.”

“Escaping Doluna’s claws isn’t as easy as all that”, Minerva countered. Maria stirred a little beside her at the sound of her voice, but didn’t react further. She had mirrored Tiki in more ways than just her positioning; she was asleep now, too.

“I don’t remember us having many breezy chats, Marth”, Minerva furthered her point.

 Marth brought his clasped hands to his chin. “Indeed. Yet here you are. There must be something we can do to have Camus join our side, and the first step is to get a chance to exchange a few words.”

“Yes”, Nyna said, voice still quiet as a whisper. “Thank you, Marth.”

“I cannot make any promises”, he said. “And the first issue is to find him in the crowd. Minerva, you know what he looks like, correct?”

“The one who saw him most recently was my knight, Est”, Minerva said, not answering his question. “And I can assure you, if he looks anything like what she described, we could all spot him. He carries the lance Gradvius over his back. It will shine like a beacon amongst the others.”

“He—?” Nyna interrupted herself and nodded slowly. “I see, so he... He took Gradvius. If anyone would be worthy of such a regalia, it’d be him.”

Hardin glanced at her, his left brow slightly raised. Minerva thought it best not to mention just how much Est had spoken about the lance in question; it wasn’t important. Est’s could go on for a long time of why _she_ was worthy of Gradvius; and a different story every time. If Camus joined their side, there was bound to be at least a few hours of loud reactions from Est about who was supposed to keep it. Though that was a trouble for a later time.

“I can scout for Camus from the sky”, Minerva said instead. “That will make it easier for you to come and speak to him.”

Caeda had stiffened a little, and her hand still rested on Marth’s back. “But if something goes wrong... What do we do?”

None of them responded, even if the answer was clear as day. As if the words may curse them if they left the safe haven of their thoughts, and leave them without hope of success.

“We hope it doesn’t”, Marth finally said. “But if we must fight him... We will. But I will do all I can to keep that from happening.”

“Thank you, Marth”, Nyna said. “I cannot ask for more.”

Tiki suddenly stirred, and awoke from her slumber with a great jolt and a low gasp. Her eyes, glowing like both emerald and gold, searched all their faces.

“Oh”, she said in her strange dialect. “We’re about to begin?”

This caused Marth to smile again. He rubbed his shoulder to return the blood flow to it as he shook his head at Tiki.

“I’m afraid we just finished.”

“Noo! Then what do I get to do?” Her eyes darted around among them again. “I want to fight! I wanna show Medeus that he’d better stop being bad, or else!”

Hardin let out a ‘ _hm_ ’, at this, as if trying to hold back a laugh. Caeda was the one to lean out and give Tiki a gentle bow of her head.

“I don’t doubt that”, she said with her voice a little bit higher pitched, as if speaking to a real, human toddler. “But we’re not going to fight Medeus now.”

“Oh.”

“No, exactly”, Marth filled in. “And even so, I just assumed... Well, that you’d want to stay back here with Nyna and the camp guard. That is a very important duty, too!”

“All right then”, Tiki said, excitedly. “I’ll do my best, Mar-Mar!”

Marth no longer winced at the name, rather, he preened a little. “I’m sure you will. Now, how about you get dinner? I hope Macellan’s venison stew tastes just as delicious as the one at that tavern in Archanea!”

 Tiki lit up at this, let out a ‘ _yeah! Come with_ ’ and without further ado, grabbed Marth’s hand and pulled him out of the tent. She did not listen to his laughing protests that he had already eaten. They were already gone by then.

\---

“Hmmm”, Est said, her last spoonful of stew in her mouth. “Your venison is better, Catria!”

“You’ve got to be kidding”, Catria said in the exact same time that Palla said; “Don’t talk with food in your mouth!”

“Nah I’m serious!” Est swallowed her last bite and turned to Maria. “Hey, did you ever get to taste Catria’s stew? I mean, probably not, you had cooks in the castle and stuff, and then I guess... uh, never mind.”

Maria, having regained some of her energy, smiled behind her spoon. “Better start writing down a list with things I’ve missed. It’s going to be pretty long.”

Minerva lost a bit of her taste, as a sour sensation spread on her tongue. She shoved another bite into her mouth to distract herself from it.

Est did not catch on to the slight shift in the air, especially not since Tiki swished past them with all the force of a hurricane.

“Red Lady!” she exclaimed and stared right at Minerva. “Have _you_ seen all the places me and Ban-Ban travelled?”

Minerva only blinked once, didn’t get to answer before Tiki went on; “I’m showing everyone, and they give me new tips of where to go when we get peace! It’s so fun! Here—“ She fumbled around her belt then let out a little cry. “—oh no I forgot the map by the giants! Uhm, no problem, I can, uhhhh, _draw_ it! Blue lady, can I borrow one of your sticks?”

“They’re _javelins_ , not sticks—“

“Here, Tiki”, Bantu shot in, a small piece of paper in his hand. “Borrow my map, instead.”

“Ah, thanks Ban-Ban!” Tiki unfolded the map, and her excited smile stopped Minerva’s ‘ _please leave me alone_ ’ on its way out, and her frown made her lean a bit closer.

“Ban-Ban, what are all these doodles?”

Minerva squinted a little, and sure enough, all over Talys, Archanea, Aurelis, Gra, Khadein, Altea – even the Pyrathi Islands there was scribbles and crosses of glaring red ink. The scribbles followed a path, a path Minerva recognized as the League’s march.

Bantu only smiled. It made him look so human, as if the angry glow of a manakete’s eyes dulled with their joy. “Don’t worry about them, Tiki. I no longer have any use for them, and I hope I never will again.”

Minerva leaned back, and regarded Bantu closely. She didn’t have to trust him, didn’t have to like him, but in that moment, she felt herself accept his presence.

She spoke before she could stop herself, her eyes on Bantu without the usual underlying threat.

“I shall see what I can do to get you a new one, old dragon”, she said.

“Thank you, Strong Child.”

In the next moment, Minerva had a map in her lap. “All right, so, where are you people from?”

“Uh”, Minerva stuttered and pointed at the unmarked area that was Macedon. “Right around here.”

“Aah! I haven’t been there yet! Where’s the prettiest spots?”

Minerva couldn’t answer, she simply stared at the map, ice in her spine. Then, Maria leaned over and pointed.

“That is a really lovely lake! Minerva and I used to go bathe there a lot when we were kids.”

“It _is_ pretty”, Est agreed, but then gestured all over the eastern mountains; “although _this_ is the best place in Macedon, no doubt! It has everything! Nice view, good tasting water – and _yes_ , Palla, the aqueducts in the cities make the water taste funky no matter how much you say it doesn’t – and it has... well it has trees...? I dunno why it’s the best, but it is!”

“Right here”, Catria said and poked with the other end of her spoon on a specific mountain in the east; “Is a place where there’s a waterfall running over great rock boulders, and you can actually just walk out on those to bathe – and there’s rainbows everywhere! Prettiest spot, guaranteed.”

“I like the capital”, Palla interjected, quietly. “I always did. There’s so much life there, you can just stand and watch as people walk by on both the ground and swish past in the sky. It has all the sights I like—“

“—such as a very specific princess, maybe?” Est grinned at her sister. Everyone around her laughed, including Palla, and even Minerva felt herself smile. Then, all quieted and looked at her, as if expecting her to come with her own suggestion. Minerva fingered with the corners of the map, before she gave it back to Tiki.

“Yeah”, she said with a tight chest. “Those are my favorite spots, too.”

Est, again, did not read into the tightness in Minerva’s voice. She hurled her empty wooden plate into the dishes basket a few arms lengths away, and whooped when it fell right in without hitting the edges.

“That was so unnecessary”, Catria snorted quietly. “Just put it in like a normal person.”

Est knicked her head. “Yeah? You’re just jealous, I aim better than you, and I got an impressive title, while you got none.”

Catria let out a ‘ _tsk_ ’, before she shoved another spoonful into her mouth. Tiki continued her journey among the dining soldiers, waving Bantu’s map in the air. Minerva watched after her.

“If that’s how you want to play things, Est”, Catria then said; “Then sure! I’m not jealous, but you get all that for lighting a few fires. I killed a _dragon_!”

“Draug’s killed _two_ dragons, it’s not _my_ fault that—“ Est paused, and frowned at Catria. “Hold on. What do you mean by that? I thought it was you guys who lit those archer towers up?”

Minerva stilled, her attention returned fully on the conversation around her. “We were nowhere near the towers”, she said. “If not you, who did?”

Palla shrugged, her arms crossed. “Probably just deserters who’d rather turn traitor than die for their land; with what the kingdom has done to the Grustians, I can’t say I’m surprised. Does it really matter? We won.”

“Yeah”, Est said. For once, her lively energy had toned down. “I mean… It’s not exactly _rare_ to hate Grust.”

“No”, Minerva agreed, her gaze fixed on the crackling flames of the large campfire. “No, it surely isn’t.”


	69. A Brave Macedonan Soldier

Rivan had gotten used to the dark of night by now.

That was when they moved.

 

He was far from the lieutenant he’d been before. That lieutenant had had a surplus of food rations, clean armor, but no real pride. The Macedonan cause was not his. But now, he’d found his own.

Rivan the Turncoat, Rivan the Deserter, may be a poor, sad figure, but he was prouder than ever. Ironically, there was also a part of him that was closer to his brother than before. His older brother, who’d told him the stories of the legendary Iote during the long winter nights.

“ _He and his wife Agathae, they tore down a whole tower of magically infused stones, all by themselves! Because it was they who built it, they knew the magic, they knew how to aim the mortal blow!_ ”

That was exactly what Rivan was doing. The King’s army was built on the backs of people like him, and now... He knew where to hit it to make it hurt the most.

And this time, they wouldn’t lose anyone. They wouldn’t have to sacrifice a friend to keep the fires alive.

He could still recall the burning of the archer towers like he was still there beneath them, torch in hand. The Grustians had no idea what had hit them, but Rivan’s team had not had a perfect escape plan. Ove, one of Rivan’s closest friends since childhood, was gone thanks to that.

He wouldn’t repeat that mistake. This was Macedon. This was their home.

“It feels... good to be back”, Ylina whispered, as if she knew where Rivan’s thoughts wandered. She stroked the crest of Iote on her breastplate with her thumb. “I wonder if ma’s alive. Rivan, you think we can pass by Boras village, just... just for an hour or so?”

Rivan wiped his cheek, hoped to be free of the itch that had settled there ever since he’d burned himself on the fires they set in Grust.

“You know we can’t be seen”, he said. “We’re not supposed to be ourselves. If the King knew what we’ve done...”

He left the rest unsaid. The magnificent stories his brother had told felt like a taunt, now.

“ _Our royal family stems from Iote, and if they’re half as good as he is, I’m sure they couldn’t make a mistake if they tried! I want to serve them. I just know it’s what I was meant to do!_ ”

“My family is here, in capital Macedon”, the third and final member of Rivan’s squad whispered. “It’s just... Just a few minutes walk from here.”

“Derne”, Rivan began, but Derne only shook his head.

“I get it, I get it”, he said. “It just feels good to vent a bit, you know? Your folks are here too, aren’t they?”

Rivan glanced toward the covered window. Not more than a few blocks away was the main street of the capital, the one leading right up to the castle. All houses along that street were packed together like a barrel of salted herrings, not for a second was there a lack of eyes watching the street below. It was easy for him to push away his temptation, but he understood what his friends went through.

His parents must have gotten the letter about his supposed death at Knorda Market by now. He would have liked to knock on their door, smile at them and tell them not to worry; they hadn’t lost their remaining son.

 _Tiran is not dead_ , came the weak protest from deep inside his mind, like it always did. Though now, he wasn’t so sure. All he could hope for now was an answer. Someone must know what happened. How he disappeared. Sometimes, Rivan thought his brother might just have given up on Macedon after learning of the King’s new allegiances, and ran away overseas; but that wasn’t like him at all.

 “ _Agathae was the first Pegasus knight, and one day, I hope to be like her!_ ”

Derne gave Rivan’s shoulder a rowdy shake. “Having seconds thoughts, shorty? You’re spacing out.”

“I don’t answer to shorty”, Rivan sighed, and rubbed his cheek again.

“Stiff as always. We’re about to die – why don’t you loosen up a little?”

“We’re not _about_ to die”, Ylina shot in and pushed her hand into her gauntlet. “Our chances look much better than last time. It’s all in place – I’m Agda, you’re Dollen and _you’re_ Tir. We infiltrate the Macedonan defense troops under General and Weapons Master Orridyon, give the League an opening, and then we go straight north.”

“And we’re _sure_ there are no people up there?” Derne asked.

“The intel we got was quite clear”, Rivan answered. “The Northern Riots made everything uninhabitable, and no one wants to move back. It’s the best we got.”

“Yeah”, Ylina whispered. “It’s astounding, the number of things we never got word of when we were abroad. It’s... Unbelievable. Our kingdom’s breaking up from the inside, and we were slaving under dragons without even knowing about it.”

“But we’re here to fix it”, Rivan said, and he managed to sound much braver than he felt. “Doluna won’t stop taking, and destroying. We need a ruler who will stand against them, or Macedon will surely perish. That’s why we fight.”

Derne put his helmet on with a dramatic gesture. “The Queens Guard, rides again!”

“Do be quieter”, Rivan scolded him, but he couldn’t help smiling a little. Ylina extended her gauntlet-clad hand, and they both took it.

“For the future”, she whispered.

“For the Queen”, they whispered back.


	70. Death of the Proud

Lightning sliced the sky above the dying kingdom of Grust.

The air itself vibrated with the thunder that followed. Titania’s wings wobbled slightly, but there was no fear in her roar toward the skies. Thunderstorms were common in spring around the Macedonan valleys; they’d flown through their fair share of them before.

The rain had begun washing over them just as Marth had signalled the charge against the Grustian capital, and it ran heavy over Minerva’s face. The complete dark of the sky told her that the storm would continue on, perhaps for the entire day.

It was a disadvantage, but Marth didn’t call off the attack. The Grustians might know their way around the landscape, but they were few, and weak. All the pride in the world couldn’t feed them, and with the League having cut off all their last supply lines, they crumbled like half-withered flowers in the rain.

They fought, but not nearly hard enough. Besides, arrows didn’t fly in the rain, but Minerva did. She cut through their mounts, stayed as close to the ground as she dared. She couldn’t see their faces that well, but the silver on their armor flashed blindingly with each strike of lightning, enough for her to determine friend from foe.

The rain smacked onto her cheeks like ferocious pins, left her face buzzing and numb. She blinked the water out of her eyes, and beneath the edge of her axe, she searched.

That duty fell to her, after all. A wyvern could manage the sky even in heavy thunderstorm rain, pegasi could not. So, as she drilled along the ground, she regarded every single opponent she cut down, in search for their First General, the leader of the Sable Order.

According to Est, General Camus was easily recognizable as long as he still had Gradvius. The regalia gave a faint light, and looked like no other weapon.

And indeed, when she spotted him, there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt. Lightning flashed against his pale hair and skin, in stark contrast to his dark armor. Gradvius shone in the rain and gave each droplet individual rainbows; it would have been a softening sight if not for the hand that held it. Camus stood in an impeccable battle stance, and at the same time looked as though relaxed in the saddle. He looked so perfectly integrated with battle and death, Minerva could have sworn she stared right into the smudgy shadow of her own, past self.

 _I’ll save him_. The thought had a surprising intensity, the gullible child within her screaming for justice to be made, for all who fought unwillingly to be freed. She narrowed her gaze, turned abruptly in order to slice at one of the men close to him – not to kill, but to capture his attention, on the off chance that she didn’t already have it.

She knew she ought to keep her distance from him – he would not restrain himself in having her done out of the way, and she did not doubt he knew the quickest way to go about it. But at the same time she didn’t want him to charge against their infantry that now closed in from the flanks.

The smudge that was Camus moved, as she’d predicted, and she slipped away from him in the rain, by darting straight up into the air.

One strike of lightning her way, and she was done for. It was a risk she had to take. That was the signal for Marth to know Camus had been found, so that he could move toward him.

She dived right down again, quickly as she could. Camus was there, waiting for her, calculating and calm. His movements were fast, and she’d dodged his strike out of luck. They were evenly matched in skill, perhaps, but with the rain blocking her sight, there was only so much she could do.

The way Camus looked, it struck doubt into the deepest core of her that he didn’t truly side with Doluna – he seemed so at home, no sign of hesitation. How had _she_ looked to the outside world? She couldn’t remember.

 _Marth trusted you,_ her thoughts whispered, to smother her doubts. _Give Camus the same chance._

Camus followed up on his maneuver, effectively pushing her back. She was forced closer to the men riding for his aid. She wasn’t given much choice, she had to answer. Her retaliation missed, and the tip of Hauteclere sliced the air in front of his face – she honestly couldn’t say if it was intentional or not, her arms moved on instinct, an instinct set to kill, but she reined herself in.

It gave her the chance to skip the air above him arching over to the other side. Titania’s tail aimed for his head, but one glance over her shoulder told her that he’d ducked successfully. The blurry outline of his face looked so neutral, as if this didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“Dragoon”, he called over the rain. “You missed.”

From her angle, she could spot four pegasi galloping her way – Palla’s mount was flying, albeit unsteadily, right above the ground. They’d seen the signal, at least; she hoped Marth had too, but she had no time to look.

She hovered in the air, ready to dart away any moment, but Camus didn’t move, he waited for her response. Confident enough to be polite, it seemed.

She could play this game, too. She gave him his best taunting laugh.

“Thereby giving you a last chance to run, one general to another.”

She finished her sentence by sending a throwing axe his way – she aimed for his horse’s neck, she still didn’t want to hurt him, but she might as well had aimed for the ground for all the damage she did. Camus knocked the axe out of the air with the butt of his lance, barely looked like he was moving aside from the lance spinning once in the air, the prickling rainbows reflected in the axe’s blade before it was hit, and thudded into the ground. It looked flawless, and lazy all the same.

“I’d return the favor”, Camus called back. “But traitors get no mercy from me.”

The pegasi were closer, so she stayed while Camus aimed his blows at her. Lock, unlock, parry, repeated until they broke apart. She was dancing a dangerous dance, she knew that, but if she could hold him for a little longer...

“I have no need for your sympathy”, she yelled at him, readying Hauteclere anew. “Your battle skills are mercy enough!”

The infantry had cut off the ones riding for Camus’ aid, but that didn’t mean she was safe. His eyes gleamed, finally – no longer the indifferent knight. He clearly didn’t think fondly of her, and in his gaze was the determination to kill.

He moved in to clash against her again, but she avoided him. If she could just hold out—

“General Camus!”

So, Marth had noticed. Good.

His small figure drooped of the rain, barely visible in the murky light. The tip of his sword pointed downwards, his hand raised with an open palm toward Camus. And the Grustian general mirrored him, the luminescent tip of Gradvius against the wet, beaten grass beside him.

Minerva backed off. She shouldn’t ruin Marth’s chances by being a threatening presence, but she stayed close by in case things did not go as planned. Caeda and the Whitewings reached her, and slowed to a trot. Catria gave her a quick salute, breath rasping in her throat. Palla, beside her, stared right at her as if scanning for injuries, her hair flat against her head beneath her thin helmet. Est and Caeda did not acknowledge her, though; Est’s gaze was transfixed on Gradvius and Caeda’s on Marth.

Minerva wiped her face on the fabric of Titania’s protective neck harness, in an attempt to get some of the rain out of her eyes, but the harness was just as drooping as the rest of her and changed nothing. She squinted toward Marth again. She could not hear any of the words exchanged between them, so far the scene hadn’t turned threatening. But in the small moment Minerva had looked away, a flashing white figure had begun to run toward Marth.

“Woah, wait”, Est cried out. “Hold up, that’s—“

She didn’t finish her sentence. That was the thing with Nyna – one didn’t say her name out loud much. Although this didn’t look much like Nyna at all; her shimmering white dress was ruined by rain and mud, her hair in tangles and she was _screaming_. Her hands waved anxiously, while Marth was attempting to pull her back. His yells drowned in hers.

Camus face had softened at the sight of the Empress, but he hoisted his lance nonetheless.

Was it a ruse, like the one Minerva had pulled back at Castle Deil? Felt like centuries ago. But no, something was off. Marth had his rapier aimed at Camus, his eyes hard. Not the soft and trusting anymore.

Definitely time to intercept. Minerva gave the signal, and in the same moment Caeda galloped away, and even with her Pegasus wet wings, she took to the air.

Camus aimed his thrust for Marth, and he dodged – or rather, stumbled and slid on the slippery mud, still trying to hold Nyna back.

Caeda rammed Camus before he could follow up, extended her own lance to lock Gradvius. Camus got free in a mere moment, and his lance would have successfully found its way through Caeda’s throat if Catria hadn’t been there to parry, and if Minerva hadn’t aimed Hauteclere for his back and forced him to sidestep.

Palla and Est had also managed to get into the air and flanked him from above and the left. But Camus was still not an easy target. His movements flowed to dodge, parry and keep at bay; even with Titania’s claws in his horse’s hind legs he could still slip away and keep fighting.

One horseback rider, keeping five sky knights at a distance at the same time – it shouldn’t be possible, hard rain or not. It wasn’t something he could hold for very long; he was losing control of his horse. Even the most staunchly trained mount slipped into panic eventually.

“Camus”, Nyna screamed – her raised voice was terrifying, like the raindrops shattered for her will and lightning bent to a center above them, flashing in streamers at her words. “Camus, no, please!”  
  
“I will not turn my back on Grust”, Camus bellowed back, twisting in the saddle. “I have lived as a knight, and I will die as one! Bring it on!”

“ _No_!” Nyna cried, voice breaking. “No – _stop! Sky knights, stop! I ORDER YOU TO STOP!_ ”

That caused Minerva to look up, but her arms kept going. She missed, and she saw both Catria and Palla hesitate for a moment. It was a moment too much; Camus seized the chance and spun to get another hit. He sliced Gradvius’ tip over Catria’s Pegasus’ front legs, and rammed the butt of the lance into Palla’s abdomen, right where her breastplate ended.

Palla veered away, her face twisted in agony and her hand over her lower ribs. A fire moved from Minerva’s heart all the way up to her head, and she no longer thought of anything aside from Camus. Enough games, enough hesitation.

 _Death comes for you_. Hauteclere hissed in the rain, and Camus dodged with Gradvius over his head, ready to attack again; but a Pegasus swept past above him. A gauntlet-covered hand wrung Gradvius out of his grip in one swift moment. The lance shone like the sun in Est’s hands, and she spun it in the air like she’d never wielded anything else in her life.

The horse staggered beneath Camus, and the second hiss from Hauteclere hit its target.

She caught Camus gaze, as he turned to look at her. There was a flash of _something_ in his eyes as he looked at her; it wasn’t the typical fear she was used to, but she didn’t think about it much. She wasn’t sorry, and yet she was. Hauteclere cut through his armor, tore his back open and launched him onto the ground.

Nyna’s cries drowned in thunder. Minerva couldn’t really care about either, she darted down to where Palla had trotted to the side, where she sat bent in the saddle. Catria had trotted down beside her and dismounted, keeping her hand on Palla’s knee and speaking to her.

Was this victory? Should she do what a Commander should, and turn back to the skies? She wanted nothing else but to stay by Palla’s side. She’d done her task, and Marth was not one to keep track of what was happening either, she gathered.

“Midia!” she heard Marth cry. “Thank the _gods_ you’re here— Get Nyna away from here, _now_!”

The sky opened even further and washed away the broken beacon of Grust, bleeding to death in the mud.

Thunder rumbled again.


	71. Invisible Claws

She wasn’t sleeping well that evening.

Wherever she looked in her dreams, a sulking shadow haunted her. A shadow, whose face never moved; never once strayed from the expression of a woman about to wreak death without remorse.

In her nightmares, Palla could be lying dead, and the Crimson Dragoon would not bother to look. She’d step past the body, and feel nothing. Maria could be hanging from the edge of a cliff, and the Crimson Dragoon would stand at the edge and stare down at her without intention to help her up. When Maria lost her grip and her screams shattered the air, the Crimson Dragoon watched her hit the ground, and she felt nothing. The entire League-encampment could be aflame, and the Crimson Dragoon would stand in the middle of the flames. She was unable to burn. She couldn’t die.

And the worst part would be when Minerva was herself, when she _did_ feel the agony her nightmares wrought, but when she looked at her reflection, the Crimson Dragoon was the only thing to stare back at her.

Sometimes, when she awoke, she’d see the shape of the Dragoon before her, and her body couldn’t move.

“ _I’m fine_ ” _,_ Minerva had smiled to Palla before they went to sleep. “ _I promise_.”

Lies, all lies. Her mind swarmed and whirred where she could not reach it, her heart hammered in the back of her throat as if it was about to rise and become lost in the space of her mind along with her screeching thoughts.

She’d managed to shut all of it in for so long, she’d managed to focus on the things that brought her joy. No more.

No more.

 _This is you_ , her nightmares whispered to her as they placed her in the body of the Crimson Dragoon, again and again. _You are cruel. You are heartless. Stop your pretenses. You can’t escape. You’re meant to kill, so kill._

Palla moaned quietly beside her. Minerva lay with her eyes wide open, kept her hands clasped over her chest.

Palla had broken three ribs in the battle with Camus, and Minerva didn’t want to wake her. She knew firsthand how painful that experience was – healing magic could hurry it up, but the ribs were a part of you that you just couldn’t keep still. You had to breathe, and when it hurt to breathe, it was near impossible to fall asleep. If Minerva woke her up, she probably wouldn’t be able to sleep any more for the entire night. It wasn’t worth that.

She didn’t want Palla to suffer for her sake. Not now. She carried so much of Minerva’s sorrow already, and Minerva could handle being awake on her own.

 _Usually_. What did she do to find a little bit of peace, when claws of terror grasped for her heart?

She stared at the dark ceiling of the tent. She was still nauseous.

She listened to the sound of the wind. She tried to remember the wondrous freedom of the sky. It should calm her. It did the opposite. The gales sounded more like cries of torment than the refreshing companion of flight.

She focused on Palla’s breathing. They were safe, a home, a shield—

Minerva’s heart kept hammering, and every small groan of pain that came with Palla’s exhales stressed her heart rate further.

_Useless. Useless._

Minerva’s eyes hurt. They begged for sleep, but now her mind screamed at full volume along with her beating heart. The mere thought of trying to close them again seemed impossible. She stared wide into the darkness. A shadow flickered outside, and Minerva sat up with a dart.

 _Creatures of darkness_ , she heard Linde’s voice in her mind. _Work of Gharnef_.

Minerva held her eyes fixed on the shadow, before she realized it was the branches of a tree that danced in the moonlight that cast shadows over her tent wall.

Minerva pulled her knees to her chest, looked straight ahead with her aching eyes. She felt so ill.

She should take a walk. She should stand up. She shouldn’t stay here as her mind spiralled down.

 _I failed_ , came the inevitable whisper. _I killed. I could have waited. I could have let them try again._

Nyna’s cries still rang in her ears, vibrated like giant bells. It distorted her thoughts. She _knew_ it wasn’t anywhere near reasonable. Camus had made his choice, and if Minerva had waited, more than Palla’s ribs could have been shattered. Still, _knowing_ what was reasonable and what wasn’t didn’t matter. Not when she couldn’t reach her mind.

 

Grust had finally crumbled. Without Camus, they had nothing to save them. The League had left the battlefield, filled to the brim with Grustians either injured or dead.

Like Doluna. That was their way. Destroy, then leave, as if the dead never mattered to begin with—

 

Minerva choked a sob. She wondered where it had come from – she had so little control of her body in moments like this. Was it even she that sat there?

She rocked a few times back and forth, to convince herself that she still had control, and to quench any sobs that might follow.

Palla responded to it by turning around, but she didn’t seem to wake. All it would take was for Minerva to reach out and shake her shoulder, ever so slightly—

 _For once in your bloody life, don’t be selfish_ , she cursed herself as she looked at Palla’s shape beside her.

She tried to think back on the first day she’d met her. The harsh autumn rain, the wind in her hair, their immediate perfect synchronization, the freedom in her heart, the soil of Macedon below her—

Her body shook again. She leaned her chin on her knees and looked ahead. This didn’t do her any good, she might as well accept the claws that rendered her mind, when she couldn’t fight them.

 _You can’t escape_. Macedon was next. There was nothing she could do to prolong it; it was _now_. Her kingdom. _Her_ kingdom. She was ever the fool, to think she belonged anywhere.

 

A true Macedonan felt honor and kingdom pride first and foremost, after all. A turncoat was no better than dirt. Macedon never forgave.

Or was that _New_ Macedon?

She couldn’t remember, she didn’t know; and it did not matter. Old Macedon was dead.

There might have been thriving wood-farms. There might have been carpenters kept afloat from their flying mount’s backs. There might have been delivery services crossing the sky for as long as the sun was up.

That might all still be there, but Minerva doubted it. How could anything thrive? She’d seen Archanea, Aurelis, Altea... Doluna’s enemies suffered, but so did their allies. Not even Gra and much less Grust had been spared; why should Macedon be?

Jousting had been the closest the commoners got to actual fighting. That time was long, long past. Given the size of Minerva’s old army, there couldn’t have been a single Macedonan family that hadn’t seen the loss of a member. What were centers of life to the few became nothing but scattered pieces of dust to a king? Minerva had heard whispers of executions, threats and routings among her former soldiers, but it was just that; whispers. No one dared to speak.

 _Michalis_.

All she wanted was to ease the screeches inside her mind by shedding tears, but her eyes longed too much for sleep to be able to obey even that simple command.

 _Michalis_.

Hate sizzled like boiling oil, spread, distorted. The tent walls melted away, and she was home.

Her father smiled at her. Sunlight seeped in through the tinted windows in the great hall. Michalis walked up to him, and put his arms over his shoulders.

‘ _Home_ ’ melted away, just like the tent walls. The punisher’s platform creaked below her feet. Michalis stood by her side, and presented her to the silent, staring crowd.

The crowd melted too. Walls grew. The walls of Castle Deil. Michalis cloak whipped in the wind, before the doors closed for Maria.

All the time, Michalis kept his rare, genuine smile. And he finally stretched out his hand and put it on her shoulder. Like he’d done so many times before. _I think you’re all right, Minerva_.

She finally felt tears, and it was only when she opened her eyes that she realized she’d had them closed.

 _You’re not giving me a choice_.

Her thoughts hissed around the image of Michalis.

_You kept me from making one to begin with. You stole our father’s life. You stole Macedon’s honor. You stole Maria’s youth. If you think I will forgive, you don’t know me at all._

Her stomach lurched again, and her tears grew cold on her cheeks. It hurt to hate so much.  
Minerva’s knuckles were whitened, even when she stretched her fingers.  
_You will die_ , her heart’s voice hissed out into the darkness. _You will perish with the monsters you defend._

The Dragoon was no longer just in her nightmares.

_I will end your reign, and history will forget you ever existed._


	72. To Sustain a Monster

“I’m sorry to say, Nyna is not feeling well. She will not be present at council today.”

Minerva stared right ahead. She tried not to look at the empty spot that was supposed to be filled by Nyna. She had noticed as soon as she entered; the void of Nyna’s absence landed like a weight in her chest. _You can’t escape_ , her thoughts still whispered.

“Minerva – you may sit, if you like?” Marth tilted his head up to look at her. He seemed tired, but there was still determination behind his gaze. Camus’ refusal hadn’t hit him that hard, or so he made it seem.

Minerva had not heard him, not really. His words reached her ears, but got lost in the mist of flames inside her mind. She had reached a dreamless sleep for a short whisper of time during the early morning, but the burn inside her had not subsided with it.

“No, thank you”, she finally answered Marth. “I stand.”

“All right”, Marth said, his voice dragged out and unsure. “Well. We all know what’s to follow our victory over Grust.”

He quieted after that. They were _all_ quiet. They must be waiting for Minerva to speak. Where would she begin? Deprived of sleep, raw hatred coursing through her veins, even the most fundamental of her thoughts obscured...

“Macedon is surrounded by mountains, all around our coast.” It was Maria who spoke. She sat cross-legged right opposite Marth, and she glanced up on Minerva as if she wanted her to continue. “This poses no problem for fliers, of course. But for the League... We must enter the kingdom at one of its lowest points.”

Minerva stared into the ground, but she gave a nod to show them she was a part of this. Even if she didn’t want to, by the gods, she didn’t _want to be_ —

“That lowest point is... Minerva, help me out here.”

“Triatun Harbor.” Minerva responded mechanically, without looking up. “Woodlands, to the south. Week’s march to the capital.”

“Right”, Maria said with a grateful look on Minerva, and a small attempt at a smile. “And... As a plan, we could send in just... just a small force! And we could try to take the least defended fortresses, which might be enough for an audience, so that we could get their surrender. If we _get_ them to hear us out... they’ll listen to Minerva, at least. Right?”

Minerva felt like Maria had just poured a bucket of ice-cold water over her head. Her thoughts cleared with the shock of hearing her plans.

 _You had your chance to speak to her_ , she cursed at herself. _You complete, utter fool._

“I’m not sure you understand, Maria”, she said. Slowly, painfully, but at least she _could_ speak now. And she managed to look up into her sister’s face, see every detail of the heartbreak behind her eyes.

“We are threats to them. We are traitors. We lost all our authority when we sided with the enemy.”

“I know, but—“

“There’s no way Michalis would leave Triatun harbor undefended, to begin with. He knows that’s the only place we can lay dock. His elite Dragoons will be ready to waylay us, and those fortresses and towns you speak of, they will be able to sustain _hundreds_ of fliers that are ready to reinforce the border defense.”

Maria nodded, and the uncertain smile she’d worn was far, far gone. She knew everything that Minerva said too, of course she did; she was well versed in military _tactics_ , but she didn’t have the heart to go through with military _reality_. Not when it was Macedon. How could such a thing be asked of anyone, let alone her?

“You mean it will all come down to one great battle?” Hardin asked, directed at Minerva in a tone that allowed no softness; yet there was some pity in his eyes when he looked at her.

“Two”, Minerva answered, her voice like that expected of a First General. Nothing was personal; battles were... business. Business only. “If we pull through at the harbor, Michalis will call the remaining forces to the capital to defend. And our— _Macedon’s—_ elite fliers are nothing compared to the untrained sky knights we’ve faced in Archanea and Gra, and nothing like the remains of my former invasion army. Just so we’re clear.”

Her heart ached so much. She was still _proud_ as she said this. The love she felt for the kingdom she knew had not lessened, although it had become so lost in the mess of wrongdoings and hatred.

“Should we expect all of them to be... like you?” Caeda’s gaze shivered a little when she met with Minerva’s. “Like your Whitewings? I don’t like those odds—“

“We’ve never had good odds”, Prince Hardin gave as his input. It was only half-meant as a grim joke; most of his intention seemed to be to stop any spiralling on Caeda’s behalf. “We’re all devastated at the loss of Camus, but we cannot let ourselves fall into despair. We are more than capable to take on Macedon. Pardon the insensitive reminder, but you did win against the Macedonan force at Aurelis Castle, Prince Marth. You have a unique mage in your belt; it’s his time to shine again.”

“Right”, Marth said. “Yes, Merric can take on a good amount of fliers at the same time, but... hundreds? Surely we have archers and ballisticans as well – though they number only in the few. If we get overpowered by the Dragoons, it’ll be like they close a lid on us. We’re only a few plunges away from oblivion.”

So much good it did to stop a spiral. Minerva’s fingertips felt cold.

“So, maybe we should try to get an audience, after all—“ Caeda began, but she quieted at the creak of Minerva’s gauntlets closing into fists.

“I saw which knights were sent to invade, under my banner, and which ones were ordered to stay, under Michalis’.” Minerva tried to unclench her teeth, without much success. “I _still_ don’t think any of you understand. The enemy we face now carry the crest of Iote with pride; they look to Michalis as a savior, and even if they don’t they will obey his commands until death – _and he will not budge_. You do not know him like I do. An audience will only end with his knife in our backs.”

She saw a protest grow in the way Maria’s mouth opened, but whatever she meant to say stayed unspoken on her tongue.

“We have to fight”, Minerva continued. “Prince Hardin has a good point; you can hold a lot of our – _the_ – air force at bay with Merric and the archers, though he forgot to include me and the rest of the sky knights. We can keep the enemy fliers from closing you in, Marth, but you must know that Macedon _also_ has a ground-set force. About half the size of Grust’s, equal in skill.”

Marth brows arched in despair. She wasn’t softening their situation, but she saw no point in doing so. They had a right to know what they faced, and fear it accordingly.

“Any manakete?” Caeda asked.

“I doubt it”, Minerva answered.  She felt like she was underwater, and any response she might have gotten drowned in the noise that once again roared inside her head.

 _Let me focus_ , she cursed at her dimmed mind and aching heart. _This is necessary. I know it is._

She hadn’t noticed her eyes were closed, the inside of the tent was disappearing from her view anyway; there were rustles of movement and murmurs of agreements and farewells, none of which reached Minerva’s understanding. She wasn’t’ sure how long she stood that way, but when a small hand took hold of her sleeve and shook her arm, she opened her eyes. She was met by Maria’s face, wrinkled by worry and pain.

“I didn’t get much sleep”, Minerva murmured. “That’s all. Sorry.”

“That’s _not_ all”, Maria whispered and let go of Minerva’s sleeve. “You’re hurting, too. We should leave. Maybe Est’s free—”

Minerva looked to the side, avoided her gaze. Maria still wanted to escape the pain by surrounding herself with smiles and joy, but that wouldn’t’ work anymore. _There’s nowhere to run_.

“There’s something else, before you go”, Marth said. He was standing now, too, and the rest of the tent was empty. How long had Minerva been disconnected from their voices and words? Didn’t matter. It was nice to have them gone. 

“Princess Minerva”, Marth continued, the concern in his voice nauseating to Minerva; “Are you certain you wish to join the battle? If you have any reservation about fighting your own countrymen, I understand.”

The offer was exactly the same as the one Marth had given Merric before their siege of Khadein’s university. She recognized it, almost word for word.

 _Too soft,_ Minerva thought, and she fought the urge to simply close her eyes to shut out the world again. _He’s far, far too soft. I can’t—_

“If I did”, she said, with her eyes pinned into his. “I would not have offered you my axe.”

Marth leaned slightly backward, as if her gaze was pushing him back. “But, Minerva, surely—“

She lifted a hand, interrupted him. “You’ve got the wrong idea. You seem to think I wish to spare my brother and former vassals, forgive them for seeing things... differently.”

Marth slowly straightened. “Don’t you?”

 _I am not Maria_ , she thought to herself. _I am not merciful, I am not kind._

“I’d be lying if I said I did not wish it were that simple.” Mist and fire blended in Minerva’s mind, became nothing but nonsense. She couldn’t listen to her emotions. Her heart was confused, her mind was all she could trust.

“But history needs to remember that when Macedon went astray, it was a Macedonan who set things right. I cannot sit on the sidelines and let foreigners lead the assault. My kingdom is scarred enough.”

“I understand”, Marth nodded, then crossed his arms behind his back. “I would have done the same, for Altea. But Minerva, your brother...“

 _No, please_ , Minerva said. Her eyelids cramped when she fought against them. _Please—_

“... What can we expect from him, given that we reach so far as to oppose him, personally? Our lack of success with swaying Camus isn’t leaving me very optimistic, but if I, or you, or Maria, exchanged a few words with him...?”

“Would not lead anywhere”, Minerva said, abruptly. “You have me on your side because I didn’t want to stand with Doluna. Michalis does.”

“Are you sure?” Maria began her objection. “He might have Macedon’s best interest at heart, after all. So—”

“So we ‘ _get him on our side_ ’, and then what? He’ll make a _fabulous_ job in pretending to win our trust, but if we were to let that happen – what’s to stop him from cutting Palla’s head off while we sleep, just to punish me? What’s to stop him from murdering our entire council, so that he alone can take our places? What’s to stop him from taking _you_ away again? We can wish for him to be someone else, the one we knew long ago, but that won’t change anything! _He cannot be trusted_.”

Marth had paled a little. “I think I get it”, he muttered. “And, well, if it then comes down to it, Minerva, can I still trust you to, uh—”

“Yes”, Minerva answered him. “I will have it no other way. For as long as he’s alive, there can be no peace. Though, for the person I used to love as family, I will not allow him a death by a stranger’s hands. His end is mine.”

Maria’s mouth was but a thin line as she looked up into Minerva’s face, and Minerva only stared back. _I did it_ , her thoughts whispered meekly. _But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go down, I shouldn’t have waited—_

“Maria”, Marth continued with an uncertain shiver in his gaze. “How about—?”

“Shut _up_ ”, Maria snapped at him, still with her eyes on Minerva. She radiated a fire, no longer hiding what she kept within; and there was nothing in there that Minerva wanted to see. Disappointment, disgust, even fear. As if this was the first time she saw true monstrosity; not within the brother that betrayed her, not within the guards that kept her jailed, not within the dragons as they crushed the world humans built, but in someone she thought she loved.  Her gaze burned with an intensity that made Minerva’s shoulders want to slump together, but she fought it. Didn’t move.

Thus, Maria moved first. She stomped past Minerva, and tore the tent flap away from the entrance, cursed when it stuck to her hand, then slammed it shut best she could.

Perhaps Marth had tried again to speak to her, or perhaps he knew better than to try. Minerva heard nothing from him, regardless.

She opened the tent flap without looking back, almost not aware of her own movement. She focused only on one thing, and that was Maria’s back, that disappeared through the row of tents.

 

Some part of Minerva wanted to stay frozen in place, the same part of her that had so far always wanted to flee.

She forced her legs to move. Maria walked fast, but Minerva still caught up easily. She had no idea what she was about to say to catch her attention, but she didn’t have to think long; there was no need to say anything at all. Maria spun around and stopped in the same moment as Minerva reached her.

“So is this what you’ve been thinking about all this time? Is this what you sulked over?”

Minerva stopped too, but she said nothing. It was answer enough.

 Maria lifted her hands, but then let them drop along her sides again, closed into tiny fists.

“You tell me nothing. You close yourself in. You leave me to guess. Did you even consider me, in this?”

Maria’s words were the tip of a spear; it could reach all the way through the mist and chaos in Minerva’s heart, and cause it to bleed. Minerva couldn’t feel her face, but the corners of her eyes, they burned.

“I... considered”, she pushed forth. “But I didn’t... I don’t want this pain to involve you—“

“Minerva, _damn it_! It already _does_ , don’t you see?” Maria went up on her toes in her anger. “I’m not a glass figurine for you to worry about breaking – I am a _person_!”

“I know—“

“It seems to me like you _don’t_.”

A hammer blow to the core of her. The pieces shattered and got lost in the mist.

“I thought there were two of us”, Maria continued, pointing a finger at herself. “I thought we carried this burden together, and I thought we were on the same page because you never even _implied_ otherwise!”

“Did I really make it seem like I wanted to solve _all this_ —“ Minerva said with a gesture out over the camp; “—by walking up to Michalis and _hold hands_?”

“What was I supposed to think? You seemed just as sad as I was! _Not_ like someone who would kill your own family because... because you _..._ Why would I think that about _you_?”

 Maria paused, drew a quick succession of heavy, shaky breaths.

“I know you”, she continued, her balance swaying. “I thought— No, I _believed_ that family was important to you! Why do you speak like... like he _has to_ die—?“

“You think ‘ _family_ ’ ever mattered to _him_? He killed _father_!”

That caused Maria’s face to soften into surprise, and she went down on her heels again. “What? But Archanea... They said Archanea—”

“Why would _they_ harm us? Father was on their side, always – why would they risk ruining that with a _war_ on their doorstep?”

“So you don’t have any actual proof?” Maria’s face hardened again. “Are you just too angry with him to be fair?”

“ _Fair?_ Forget justice, Maria! Forget it! You want to be _fair_ – you want to have your _audience_ – but all you give him is an _opening_! Do you not understand that?”

“No”, Maria yelled back at her. “It’s _you_ who don’t understand! So say Michalis did— Say he did kill father, and you kill him – what does that make you? _Another_ usurper? You take away our chance to heal, you’d tear _yourself_ apart. There wouldn’t be any way to forgiveness left for you, anymore.”

“But there is forgiveness for _him_? Do you hear yourself?”

Maria pressed her lips together, her shoulders heaving with her breaths. Her anger seeped over to Minerva, like the magic aura, corrupted.

“Why do you defend him?” Minerva said, since Maria stayed quiet. “Have you forgotten—”

“No! No I have _not_!” Maria put both hands over her chest, tears furiously running down her cheeks. “He stole my _life_! I wish I was never born at all! _I wish I was never born at all_! The world would have been so much better off!“

“Maria, that’s not—“

“Please shut _up_! It _is_ my fault, it is _all_ my fault and I’m just trying to _make it right_! But you won’t let me, you won’t even listen to me! I don’t want my friends, or _you_ , to be destroyed, but you just want to solve everything by killing! Don’t you get that if you do, then there’s no going back!?”

“Going back? To _what_ , exactly? What difference will one murder do – I’m already _irredeemable_.”  
  
Maria leaned back, dried her eyes with jerky movements. “I thought you were doing a fantastic job of it, up until now.”

There was something in how those words crawled over her skin, Minerva couldn’t be still any longer. She twisted around, her feet walking of their own accord. She nearly tripped, she still couldn’t really see, but she moved.

 _Away_. Away from Maria, the camp, the League—

 

She walked until her legs no longer carried her. She wasn’t sure where she was, nor did she care. She slumped down with her back against a tree, stared out over the cold, barren world.

She had walked on an upward slope for a long time. She had to be pretty high up; she could see the ocean to the east. An ocean they would soon cross.

 _No escape_.

No, she shouldn’t _want_ to escape. She couldn’t be this weak anymore. This world had no use for a child spilling tears, only the most steeled would live.

The shell of the Dragoon hardened around her heart, and she welcomed it. She closed her eyes, curled together with her chin on her knees. She didn’t need to see her reflection to know exactly what she looked like. Her features landed into the neutral scowl that was so, so familiar.

This was the right thing to do. She couldn’t be a human, now; a human might hesitate. A human might let the angry tears of her sister into her heart, and grieve them; but they nurtured a monster.

_This is necessary. Then she will finally be safe._

_But not happy_ , another part of her whispered. Although, did Maria even know what would make her happy? Would she not be relieved to have Michalis gone, too?

_There won’t be any going back._

Why did she even think about it further? Thinking was human. _Hatred_ was human. She was done with them, it was time she returned to nothingness. A void was preferable to drowning.

Her time in the League had helped her brush her darkest thoughts into a corner, and it had made room for thriving light. No more. _No more_.

 

Wingbeats closed in on her. Minerva forced her head to turn, looked up.

Palla was sailing down from the sky. The hooves of her Pegasus touched the ground. Minerva focused all her thought on feeling nothing.

Palla called out her name, and Minerva’s heart shuddered. It tried to break from the void. Already.

 _Weak._ Minerva turned her head away, but she could not manage to avert her eyes. _Weak._

Palla grimaced as she dismounted. She let go of the reins, and walked up to Minerva, an arm held over the base of her torso.

“You shouldn’t be flying”, Minerva said. She managed to look away, finally.

“Well”, Palla said as she stepped closer and crouched before Minerva. “You shouldn’t be sulking in the wilderness, either.”

There was no way Minerva could keep her eyes averted; they were drawn to the gentle iron in Palla’s gaze. So she closed her eyes, instead.

“What are you doing here?”

“I ran into Maria”, Palla explained. “She looked... Really unwell. She wouldn’t tell me what had happened, but only that you’d left.”

Minerva bit down on the pain that threatened to rise.

“So, you found me.” She kept her tone short. “Good job, now you can turn back. Tell her I’m fine. If she cares.”

Palla put her hand on top of Minerva’s, stroked it carefully as if testing her ground.

“Minerva, what’s the matter?”

Minerva’s face twitched, and she opened her eyes again. “You don’t need to ask.”

“Perhaps not. It’s your brother, isn’t it?”

“Not talking about it. Please, go. I don’t want you here right now.”

“Are you trying to send me running, like you did with Maria? Is that how you handle things, now?”

“I’m not _handling_ anything; I only destroy, so leave before I destroy us as well.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Palla leaned back, removed her fingers from Minerva’s. “I could leave you alone, if that is what you truly wish. Tell me to leave, again, and I will; but until then I stay. And if anything is destroyed, I’m sure you can easily replace me, highness.”

Minerva hadn’t let herself cry from Maria’s yells, but the sound of Palla’s calm words stung like venom. Tears pushed at the back of her eyelids. She was breaking. She put her hands over her face, curled up.

Her sobs were silent, but she was shaking with each one.

Her body moved, grew warmer as she was tipped over and surrounded by an embrace. Rocked gently, back and forth.

“I’m sorry”, Palla whispered.  “What a terrible thing to say.”

Minerva shook her head, couldn’t remove her hands. The world outside was sharp as knifes, every shadow threatening to suffocate her. The only thing shielding her was not looking at it.

“What I meant was just— I am not afraid of that.” Palla’s voice was right by Minerva’s ear. “I am not afraid of you, either. What I fear is you suffering alone, while I am here.”

 _Push back_ , the void inside Minerva desperately cried. _Get out of her arms, do it now or you’ll never be able to return to the shell—_

Minerva didn’t move. She let herself melt into the embrace, like so often before.

“We both know what awaits”, Palla continued. “We’ll have to face our own. We’ll have to see our home changed... But none of us have to carry that alone. There are five of us; seven, if you count Lena and her brother, and we... We can help each other go through this.”

 _I thought there were two of us_ , Maria’s voice echoed back at Minerva. _I thought we carried this burden together._

The void refused to open fully, but it kept cracking. New tears dampened her palms. She carefully, carefully removed them.

“When something’s infected”, she muttered, her voice raspy from tears. “You need to kill the source. Correct?”

Palla’s hand found her hair, and stroked it, quietly.

“No doubt. But aren’t there more ways than one to go about it?”

“Not unless you want to risk it finding new ground to spread. Then there’s just one way.”

Palla didn’t answer that for a long time. She merely sighed and pulled Minerva up further, so that she could rest her cheek against the top of her head. She let out a small groan of discomfort as she did, but then she cleared her throat.

“I take it you and Maria had a fight?”

Minerva stared into the fabric of Palla’s tunic, followed the wrinkles with her eyes. If she could focus on something, she might keep herself from spilling more tears.

“I’m such a useless sister”, she whispered as an answer, to which Palla shook her shoulders.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean? It’s not uncommon that my sisters and I fight; are you calling us useless, too?”

“It’s different from disagreeing on what to have for dinner”, Minerva mumbled, unfazed. “This is not... I can’t... _You_ were nearly destroyed from that one fight with Est, are you telling me you shrug it off, now?”

Palla was quiet, and her arms were still. _There it is, I did destroy everything_ , Minerva’s thoughts swirled in her head. _Ruined it, ruined it, ruined it—_

“No, you’re right”, Palla said, her voice low. “That was world-breaking. But how... How do you suppose we could ever fight only about ordinary things, with all that’s happened to us? One small disagreement could be about life and death; even so, I have no choice but to move on from them. I still love Est, of course. Despite how much pain her choices caused me – because really, that pain was no one’s actual _fault_. The world is too big, and too cruel – that’s the thing I choose to blame. I don’t shrug it off, but I will not let it distort my love for my family. Or, my love for you.”

Palla’s breathing had become labored. Minerva glanced up into her face, and slowly supported herself better as to relive Palla from the pressure of her weight. Her breathing eased, but when Minerva tried to sit up entirely by herself, Palla carefully held back, so that Minerva leaned on her shoulder.

“So”, Palla continued. “Would you like to tell me about the fight you two had?”

“No need. She hates me. It’s all.”

“It looked like quite the opposite, the way she cried when I saw her.”

“My fault she cries. She hates me.”

“Minerva. My love. I promise you, that is not true.”

“I can’t exactly blame ‘ _the world_ ’, now can I? I was a coward. I was afraid to listen to what she might think about our future, I _feared_ the fight before it even happened, and because of it everything is _so much worse_. Now, I... I tried to listen, but her ideas are so far from reality, I couldn’t... I had to disagree. Maria is so often right, but... I don’t think she is, this time.”

Palla brushed the skin on Minerva’s wrist with her fingers, let out the occasional hum as Minerva spoke.

“So”, she said when Minerva trailed off; “you ‘ve listened to what Maria wants, but what do _you_ want? Not what you _have to do_ , but what do you _want_?”

Minerva’s thoughts stopped dead in their tracks. “I can’t go wishing that the gods show up and fix everything with a flick of their fingers—“

“Yes, you can. What do you _want_ , Minerva?”

The question echoed inside her head, in the void therein. _What do you want?_ Did she actually wish for her brother’s death, or did she wish for him to be what she remembered, the inspiration, the rival she loved so dearly—

“I’d like to live in the same naive world as Maria does”, she began, and then quieted. “I want this Michalis to disappear. All trace of him, all memory of him, gone. I _want_ us to start over, the old Michalis there, father still alive— I want my life back! I want all things out of reach! Gods, Palla, I feel ridiculous. This is impossible.”

“Maybe. But if you listen to your heart, you can find the closest thing to your wishes as possible. What do you want that doesn’t feel impossible, then?”

“I want a world where no children would be set on a path like mine or Maria’s. That’s possible, if Michalis dies. See, I can’t fix the things he has already broken, but I can keep him from breaking anything else. I want...”

Minerva trailed off, and looked up into the sky. Palla was quiet, gave Minerva air to breathe and space to think.

The clouds moved above them with the soft gleam of upcoming spring, with the promise of harsh winter deaths to be laid to rest. Minerva followed their edges with her gaze, like the child who dared to dream of a fearless future, a future where she made sure that the world was safe; not just for herself, but for everyone.

“I want... to protect.”

Palla’s arms enclosed her tighter, her face so close to Minerva’s. She rested the bridge of her nose against Minerva’s forehead. She said nothing, only breathed. Her finger slowly stroked the back of Minerva’s hand.

“That’s who you are”, she finally said. “Everything you have done has been for that purpose. Don’t say that you only destroy, Minerva. You can rebuild. You can restore.”

Minerva finally moved her hands to stroke Palla back; she wasn’t even aware in doing so. Her fingers flowed through Palla’s hair, knew the way on their own.

“If we can end this war”, Minerva said. “I’m going back. I don’t know how, but if you’re there, I think we could return Macedon to what it used to be. I want... I want to try.”

She pushed her lips together, lowered her hand again.

“The hardest part won’t be killing Michalis. But it won’t be easy, either. I wish things weren’t so... complicated. I wish I could just lie down and everything would... be better.”

Palla hummed, and they sat silently for a while before Palla hoisted herself up into a crouch again, and looked Minerva right in the eye.

“Let’s spar.”

Minerva stared back at her. “What? Why?”

“Because I need it, and I think you need it too.”

“But your ribs...”

“Don’t care.” Palla stood up. “Go.”

She drew her sword, bound it with leather straps in her saddle bag with the precision and speed of an expert, and she threw some of the leather at Minerva too.

“Palla, I don’t think—“

The tip of a leather-bound sword pointed right at Minerva’s face.

“ _Fight me_ ”, Palla said, chin high.

Minerva opened her mouth, without a sound.

 

Where had the void gone? The power and will to stay in the expressionless nothing, the crown of dread tense around her temples – all gone. Dissolved at the tip of a sword and the spark in an eye.

 

Minerva stood as well, bound Hauteclere’s edges as best she could. Leather didn’t help much, but would something go wrong, it would at least not turn it into a killing blow.

Sparring had been their way of life back in Macedon. Minerva had never wanted to quit, she wanted to be undefeatable – which she couldn’t be if she tired, or stopped. Palla shared her ambition, had never given in. They could go on for hours on end, in wind or rain or blazing heat.

That was a simpler time, before wars and dragons. Now, months had passed since the last time they faced each other, yet Minerva still recognized Palla’s usual opening taunt. She left herself completely open. Her tip pointed at Minerva’s chest, but she presented the rest of her torso in the most tempting manner; she made it look like she’d be so easily defeated. Just one, quick stroke and victory would be secured.

Swords were meant to counter-attack, not to make the first strike; and Palla was its master. One hint from Minerva that she was aiming for the taunted opening, and the match would be over.

Minerva did her usual downward strike, a feint as if she, too, would only do the things they were accustomed to – then she shifted into a sideward stance. Palla saw through the feint, of course, and she stepped to the side. Palla’s dull leather blade smacked into Minerva’s right leg, while Minerva followed up with her side-stroke by aiming the pommel to the center of Palla’s chest. She never actually hit into her, didn’t want her pain to get worse; but they both knew she could have.

In a real battle, Minerva would be in limping pain and Palla would be winded. No lethal strikes, yet.

They backed away, started their dance anew. The grass creaked and crackled under their feet, their blades’ clashes were like the living, beating heart of the secluded air and ground that belonged to heavy breaths and rowdy laughter.

A dance so quick, and so easily interrupted; Palla managed to lock Hauteclare in a parry, and she forced Minerva’s axe to the ground.

“Swords over axes”, she panted, her confident smile yet another taunt.

Minerva let go of the handle and tackled into Palla as she grabbed hold of her waist, lifted her off the ground. Palla let out a surprised cry as she was hoisted over Minerva’s shoulder.

“Muscles over skinny sword-users”, Minerva answered, and spun her around.

“This is _not_ how knights fight”, Palla screamed, and laughed. “I can still stab you in the back, you know! This is a win for me!”

Minerva’s face twitched, lips moving upward. As if she’d found a corner in her vast empty chamber where the light still resided.

She could afford this.

She put Palla gently on the ground, and picked up Hauteclere again.

Palla stood, wobbling slightly. “Points for creativity, love.”

Minerva made a mock bow, smile growing.

Damn it all. She rushed in again, in a dance that needed no rhythm aside from the beat of their hearts.

\---

They lay side by side in the grass, sword and axe still in hand. Too tired to sheath them.

“Told you we needed this”, Palla panted.

“Mm. How are your ribs?”

“Terrible.”

They both snorted a laugh, although what exactly was funny, Minerva had no idea.

 


	73. Grustian Docks

Small beads of green covered the branches of the trees among the fisherman camps. Spring had come with a rush during the League’s two day’s march southwest of the Grustian capital. Istas Harbor, the largest town in the southern region of Grust, offered the League warm weather and a lukewarm welcome. 

There weren’t many Grustians who wanted anything to do with the League, even less with _Macedon_ , but the promise of enough gold to buy their families proper provisions was too strong of a temptation. Though their journey across the sea required a heftier sum than ever before, despite Caeda and Darros even having the help of Est to haggle down prizes.

Minerva didn’t exactly care. They had the means to cross the sea, and she had not been needed to secure that passage. She wasn’t knowledgeable enough to load the ships in the specific way the sailors wanted it, either. Which left her with enough time and freedom to walk to the side of the docks, where one small figure sat with her feet over the edge.

The comfort of pushing her problems ahead of her would not last, it _could_ not last. With Palla’s words, Minerva had found a new will to face what she feared, head-on. Gulls screeched their excitement as the harbor flooded with soldiers, loaded the dozens of ships that had agreed to carry them; but Maria had chosen a dock where there barely was any traffic, a place of stillness.

Minerva carefully sat down beside Maria. Her feet nearly touched the water, while Maria’s was about halfway down. And that was as far as Minerva came, for a while. What was it Minerva planned to say, even? _Sorry that I’m going to kill our brother. Sorry that you’re sad about it._

“ _Tell her the same you told me_ ”, Palla had said to Minerva, the night before. “ _Don’t try to be right, or convince her; she might still not like what you say, but it's better if you can talk about it without the heat of anger fresh within both of you._ ”

Maria still dangled her feet back and forth, looked down into the dark water beneath them and their smudgy reflections. Her movements were gentle, even though Minerva could tell that every muscle of her body was tense.

“We’re casting off, soon”, Minerva said. Maria didn’t answer, or look up. It required another kick of courage for Minerva to go on. “So, I wanted to... Speak with you. Before then.”

“Go ahead.” Maria still didn’t look up, but her reflection stared into Minerva’s, and Minerva stared back. She’d keep her courage, without wishing to crawl back into the illusion of being unable to feel. That illusion was nothing but a lie – Minerva wasn’t safe in indifference, rather the opposite.

“I’m so sorry for storming off”, she began. “And I’m even sorrier to have kept you in the dark for so long. I thought I was shielding you, even when I knew you would be hurt, eventually.”

Maria nodded, and her feet stopped dangling. She leaned forward, rested her wrists on her knees. Still didn’t speak.

“I’m just... Really sorry. I’ve been such a coward. The fault is mine, for hurting you so.”

“Mm.” Maria’s eyes darted up to Minerva, then back down. “I dunno. I’ve been a coward, too. Because, you know, I could’ve... I could’ve said something. But I noticed how you pulled yourself back every time we neared the subject. It would have been easy to ask, but it just felt so much easier _not_ to. It was much more comfortable to assume you were sad the same way I was, and didn’t want to hurt Macedon or Michalis, either. And I thought I could make you happier, by helping you forget about it. I was a fool.”

“A _caring_ fool.”

Maria smiled a little at that, and her next words were quiet laughter. “Yeah. That’s us, then. Two caring fools.”

Minerva leaned forward and dipped her toes in the water, watched the ripples go. For the breath of a moment, she was at their favorite lake in Macedon, the buds of spring all around them. She closed her eyes, let herself both embrace and grieve the impossible. “I actually don’t _want_ to hurt Macedon”, she said into the soft darkness. “You’re right about that. I just don’t think there’s any other reasonable option.”

“No. Yeah. I realize that.” Maria was quiet again, then her robes rustled as she hugged herself and let out a small sigh. “Minerva, do you remember back when you were gone on the Northern Border doing your bandit-hunts, and I was in the library most of the time?”

Minerva opened her eyes again, and both the sight of their reflections and the old memory tugged at her lips. “Yeah. Of course. I remember how I tried to talk you into playing with Est, instead. I knew there wasn’t much point in trying to tell you what to do, but that didn’t stop me from trying.”

“Well, you were right”, Maria went on. “It _was_ lonely, for the most part. Though sometimes – _many_ times, actually – Michalis would join me. He’d explain things thoroughly, and if I got it wrong he would explain it again, bit by bit. He wanted to help me get better. He’d tell these silly joke-rhymes, to help me remember. _An arrow bounces on wyvern scales; blades do best to run; when facing off with mages, though, a Pegasus is more fun_.”

She laughed a little. Even Minerva had to admit it was clever.

“I don’t know if he made those up himself”, Maria continued, “but he had tons of them. And he might have snapped at father, sometimes, and he might have stopped acknowledging me and you in the castle halls... And he always seemed so weighed down, you know? But... Not in the library. He wasn’t _anything_ like that when it was just him and me. He wasn’t letting me off easy, saying things like ‘ _if you want to learn, then act like it_ ’; but he’d always be there to help. Even when he had more important things to do.”

Minerva let her toe rest in the water. Didn’t care that it soaked all the way through her boot. “I had no idea he did that.”

“Can’t blame you. The two of you barely talked to each other. Maybe that was good, in a way, since he was never that nice to you.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t that nice to him, either. Mostly to retaliate – I thought he appreciated that I didn’t bow my head so easily. But that time passed. You might be too young to remember.”

“Maybe. I was not too young to remember each time he called you dumb or dense, though. The thing was, he never stopped being nice to _me_. And I mean... actual nice.”  Maria paused, and her hands knotted into fists. “I was in the library when he told me. I remember it exactly. We were reading about the possibilities of overcoming spiral staircase-towers, and he put his quill down and smiled at me. ’ _There’s a shift in the world’_ , he said _. ‘But there’s a way for you to help keep the peace, and save the lives of thousands.’_ I mean, who wouldn’t say yes? He made it sound so simple, and... I trusted him.”

Minerva carefully lifted her arm and put it over Maria’s shoulder. She didn’t shy away, she only smiled at their reflections in the water again. Minerva smiled back, and rubbed her shoulder. “Nobody could ever blame you for it, Maria.”

Maria leaned her head against Minerva. “No one, except me. It’s still hard to ignore such loud thoughts.”

Minerva decided not to answer that, she only leaned her cheek against the top of Maria’s head. They stayed silent for a long time, before Minerva spoke again. “You’re willing to trust him again, then?”

“I’d like to.” Maria pointed vaguely out over the docks. “But we can’t, not like _this_ , I understand that. Though every time I try to be angry, the brother he was to me gets mixed into the picture. I can’t help but think there was a reason for all this, and I want to know, I want to... I want to fix all the things that are broken because of me, because of _him_. I understand that I might not actually be able to, and that’s... hard to live with.” Maria let her hands rest in her lap again, let out another sigh that caused her shoulder to sink way from Minerva’s hand. “Master Talia always taught me that there was enough bad things in the world, and it’s an Earth Magician’s job to mend what can be mended. We should never add to the suffering. But now... There will be violence, and I am not powerful enough to keep it from happening.”

“That’s not a failure on your part”, Minerva said. “This is how war goes. Michalis must be removed from power for us to pull through, and that can’t be done if we don’t oppose him. I’m certain that Michalis agrees with me; there’s no peaceful solution to this mess.”

“But must he die?” Maria shuffled out of Minerva’s embrace so that they could look each other in the eye. “I meant what I said; I’m scared what killing him will do to us, and to you. You saw Marth after avenging his father’s death – that too was a personal kill, for the sake of vengeance. You saw how it nearly destroyed him.”

“You can’t mean that killing a murderer and killing a tormentor to end your own suffering is the same thing.”

“No... It isn’t. But if you do both with vengeance, they become the same. So we should oppose Michalis for what we believe is right, not for revenge.”

“I...” Flames burned in Minerva’s throat, burned any words of agreement that might have passed out of sheer reflex, otherwise. There was so many dead, so little of Minerva left, and no memory of peace – what could she do but hate? What was the point, if she couldn’t release that hatred and bring it down upon the one who deserved it? “I promise... To try.”

“That’s all I can hope for, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry”, Minerva sighed. “I wish it was easier. I wish we didn’t have to do any of this.”

Maria leaned her head on Minerva’s shoulder again. “Me too. But we have to make the best of what _is_. That’s what Est says.”

“Sounds just like her.”

“Yeah. Never underestimate her sudden bursts of wisdom.” Maria laughed again, and looked up into the sky. “Speaking of, she said she owed me a thousand flights with her since I’ve been gone so much. I’m not going to pass on that offer; I’m going to fly with her as much as we can while we cross the ocean.”

“Right. No boats.”

“Yeah, I can’t stand them”, Maria said. “They’re too close to that... trap. I was able to manage the crossing to Gra and Altea, and perhaps I’ll be fine now too, but this journey will be longer.” She stared intently at the creaking masts, her gaze shivering. “I hope you’ll be in the air, too. Seeing you glide around like you do, as if it’s what makes your life perfect, it... Makes me hurt less. Though I’m a bit angry with you, still.”

“I can tell.”

“Bear with me. It might not even be your fault. I just want this to be over. So I can sort out my thoughts.”

Minerva placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. “Me too.”

“See you in the sky.”

Minerva smiled and let go of her. _To think, I once feared this talk._ She wasn’t close to angry or afraid; they were just two sisters, honest once again, discussing something so simple as a journey. Things wouldn’t stay simple, but right then, why not let it be?

“Yeah”, Minerva said. “See you in the sky.”


	74. Clash in Macedon

Macedon’s border mountains weren’t like any other on the continent.

They were harsh, like the spikes on a dragon. They shot up into the sky, with steeps from the highest top all the way down to the ocean surface. Reminiscent of Gra’s weather-worn cliffs – though those were tiny in comparison. A cliff was nothing to a mountain.

Minerva could recognize the shape her home against the horizon anywhere, anytime, even as it was nothing but smudges shrouded in far-away mist. Her mind filled in the blanks, painted the image of the innate wall of spikes surrounding the land like a cradle, where only one entry allowed humans to cross the threshold.

Triatun harbor, a gate by the gods' design. It was the only point where the earth met the sea at a normal altitude. When their Macedonan ancestors came sailing from the south, the Triatun Pass was probably the first place they found home. Though too much of pre-Macedonan history relied on ‘ _probably_ ’. No one knew if the first Macedonans had entered the land by their own free will and that the manakete conquered them into enslavement; or if the manakete themselves had loaded those ships with humans in order to get their slaves. Few things remained from that time; Altea had their stories, Archanea and Grust had their shrines, but Macedon was empty of memories. It was a past no one wanted. Every dragon monument in Macedon had been torn down, burned and buried after the First Dragon War, by order of Macedon’s first king, the hero Iote.

The hero Iote, who promised to keep his people safe from the manakete in the north. The hero Iote, who took the first tamed wyvern to the sky, taught Macedon to be unrelenting and never tolerating any fellow human’s struggle. Because no people deserved chains, the way they had been chained.

What would that hero say if he heard that one of his own blood defiled his name, used it as his own while bowing down to the Dragons?

Probably nothing, Minerva decided. Dead didn’t speak.

“Land!” Darros shout carried over the sound of ocean winds and the crash of waves against the bow. He swung himself around from the top of the mast, shouting all the while. “We be seein’ land, praise be ye beautiful sealilies!”

Darros’ message spread quickly. The call bounced around among the other ships in their curious-looking armada. Fishing boats and grand merchant cogs and everything in between creaked with the adjusted course and the pure anticipation that came with it. The message spread even all the way up to the sky, it seemed. The lone Pegasus that circled them steered down to the main ship, and within a few seconds Est had galloped down on the deck beside Minerva. Maria’s arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, while her eyes darted down on the deck.

“I suppose the noise is about the land that Maria and I spotted about an hour ago?” Est’s words almost passed right by over Minerva’s head – Est’s focus was transfixed on the misty spikes over the horizon.

Minerva didn’t answer her, and Est didn’t wait for her to; she never stayed quiet for long. “You all right with being on the deck for the rest of the journey, Maria? It won’t be long now. We can go back up if you want – there’s no catastrophe down here, even though it sure sounds like it.”

“Thanks, Est, but no.” Maria unwrapped herself and stepped lightly on the planks beneath her feet, testing her ground. “I will be fine.”

Darros’ announcement had brought the entire ship to life, but Minerva stayed in place. Maria slipped up beside her, and carefully put her hands on the railing.

“Minerva—“

Maria got no further before Catria ran up from below deck, her hair in a complete mess and her duvet still wrapped around her shoulders.

“Land?” she shouted. “They be seein’ land? I ain’t dreamin’?”

Minerva’s answer would have been ‘ _see for yourself_ ’, so yet again she chose to stay quiet. These last few days, her sentences were almost always harsh and short, even when she didn’t mean for them to be.

“Oh damn”, Catria whispered as she, too, joined them by the railing. She blinked the crust from the corners of her eyes and stared at the mountains ahead of them. Then, for lack of other things to say, she only gave another ‘ _oh damn_ ’.

There wasn’t much else to be said, really.  What Minerva felt as her nails dug into the railing wasn’t anything that could be voiced in words. How could she give expression to recognition, sparked through a haze of silent, invisible smog? How could she give words to the feeling of her eyes opening wider in appreciation, and her lips wanting to follow with a smile that was choked down only moments after?

Minerva bit down on her tongue. She had to look away, let her emotions compose, though that was a fight against her will. She managed to turn her back, and rested her hands against the railing. With the sensation of _home home home_ prickling at the back of her neck, she placed her focus on the sailors that scurried about. Most of them wore gray, loose shirts and brown pants, so they became a blur of earthly colors impossible to follow; though among the many variations of dirty blonde, there was a ray of green.

Palla was sliding forth between sailors, with a bundle of spears in her arms. She dropped her cargo in an open barrel tied to the mast, before she disappeared beneath deck to fetch new ones, repeated her duty without getting distracted by Minerva’s following gaze even once. Minerva should help her, should fall in line with the chaos of sailors and find something to do in order to prepare, too. But her legs didn’t move.

She cast an eye on the forecastle of their ship, where Marth scurried alongside his soldiers. He seemed to be speaking to Hardin, all while pointing every other way. Tiki at his side, as she almost always was, her gaze following wherever he pointed with awe. This journey was Tiki’s first time crossing an ocean in such a large ship – something she had told everyone aboard so many times Minerva had lost track of it. The little dragon’s never-ending curiosity was an unstoppable force, a rain of questions and innocent remarks – and the one to answer them was always Marth.

Hardin had during one of their dinner-gatherings jokingly asked Marth if he’d taken to adopting Tiki as a pet, to which Marth’s eyes had flashed in true anger. ‘ _Do not speak of her that way_ ’, Marth had snapped. ‘ _She is a person, and not some CREATURE! And if she wants to learn more about humans, what better way is there but to follow a commander such as myself? It is my privilege to be of help, and to call her a friend._ ’

There was no such aggression between Hardin and Marth now, though. Hardin nodded along with everything Marth said, the glow of the lance Gradvius reflecting in the jewels on his armor.

 

A shadow moved over Minerva’s vision, as Palla joined their side. She slid in beside Minerva, her lips a thin line. Palla, too, positioned herself with her back to the horizon.

“There’s plenty to prepare”, Palla greeted them. “But Caeda told me to leave it to the others – Marth wants us sky knights to focus on getting ready for our own... challenges.”

Minerva only nodded. The crossing had been so quiet up until now, but with just one single shout, everything happened all at once. Minerva wasn’t too fond of being confined to a ship, but she wasn’t exactly long for reaching land either.

“Yeah, nice that Marth recognizes that we’re doing something _pretty_ important”, Est scoffed. She had dismounted with the intention to join them on deck, but her focus was somewhere else. Her eyes were glued to Hardin. “I mean, it’s us against _a sky army_ ”, she continued. “I know something that would make that a _lot_ easier.”

Hardin was caught in conversation on the opposite side of the ship, with his back to them. Gradvius’ shine surrounded him like a halo, and Minerva didn’t need to look too closely into Est’s face to notice how her eyes narrowed.

“Oh, come on”, Est snarled and crossed her arms, not for the first time since she’d seen Hardin with Gradvius. “Am I really the only one who sees through this? It’s unbelievable, it is!”

“Est, schh!”

“Don’t shush me, Catria! It is _crazy_ and I have reasons to complain!”

“You really don’t—“

“Look at him! He struts so proud, ‘ _ohh look, the Empress chose meee_ ’, even though it’s all political and he probably knows it too! Yuck!” Est rested her back against the railing, bright forelocks casting a shadow over her eyes. “I’m _way_ better than him with my lance, and Marth and Nyna should see that! Why don’t you tell them, Commander? They’ll listen to you!”

Minerva answered her with sharpness in her voice. “Hardin is a high-born prince, and a skilled warrior, and our friend. Don’t speak of him like that.”

Est tapped her fingers against her arms and muttered for a bit.  “ _I_ was born to carry that lance”, she finally complained. “It was I who took it from Camus to begin with! And I brought them Mercurius! Wasn’t that enough? And hey, while we’re at it, why’d they not give that sword to Palla? It’s crazy!”

“You might be biased”, Palla said calmly. “All warriors in this army have great skill, on par with mine.”

“Ugh, stop pretending to be content”, Est grimaced. “And fine, I mean, Mercurius looks good on Abel, I can’t deny that, but—” She put her hands into her hair and made a dramatic show of pretending to tear at it. “—we could have been a matching couple! Gah! It would have looked _amazing_!”

Minerva couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Est’s chirpy jokes or dramatic flairs had done wonders to grant her smiles, but by now, she was mostly annoyed. _It’s not Est’s fault_ , she tried to calm herself. _Don’t snap_ —

“We have much more concerning matters”, Minerva barked at her. “So stop your pointless fuss.”

Her voice was low, her eyes felt like the radiated darkness. Est shied backwards, and her gaze went down on her feet. She didn’t say anything, apart from a weak ‘ _yes, Commander_ ’, before she turned her back toward the deck, and everyone thereon.

Minerva cast another look over her shoulder, toward the mountains growing larger before them. She didn’t know that much about the speed ships moved, but she estimated another three hours before a battle was even slightly relevant. She pushed away from the ship’s railing.

“Just go get ready”, was all she said.

\---

Maria was the one to bring them all together again. She didn’t say much, but she took their hands just as they were about to mount, and then pulled them into one, warm embrace. Their armor clanked against each other, poked into arms and cheeks, but neither of them was in any hurry to let go.

“You be careful, now”, Catria mumbled to Maria, her gauntlet gently rustling Maria’s hair, with care not to get stuck in it.

“You too”, Maria whispered back. “All of you.”

Est cleared her throat, a sound that went by ignored, but when she cleared it again with gusto, Minerva and Maria glanced at her. Est’s eyes were set toward the north, and she licked her lips before she spoke up.  “Yeah, uh, sorry but… That’s not a _real_ cloud, right?”

Minerva followed Est’s gaze. Over the low houses of Triatun harbor, a mass of dark shapes crept forth, reminiscent of a raincloud. Though it moved too quickly, too close to the ground, and it gleamed in places like the sun on steel.

“So”, Palla said blankly. “They’re swarming us already. That’s bold.”

“Bold indeed”, Minerva echoed. Her voice felt empty, despite her emotions clawing inside her chest.

Minerva quickly sorted through the rest of their ships with her gaze. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. The sailors on the larger ships had busied themselves with preparing the smaller rowboats – Caeda had briefly mentioned to Minerva that the merchant ships were too large to dock, and the only way to reach land was through rowing. And if the first swarm got to the League’s ships before then, the battle would be over in a breath.

She shouldn’t be surprised; it was a ruthless tactic, though with great risk for the Macedonan troops. The ships had many means of firing powerful projectiles, and with the sea below them, there was no getting up if the sky knights fell to fickle ocean winds. _Victory without sacrifice is nothing but a dream_ , Michalis had tried to teach her. He clearly believed in that, too. What was the loss of any number, if it could win him the battle? It might be bold, but it came with careful planning, perfect timing. Cavalry and infantry were of no use at all when they were stuck in their tiny boats. They’d be sunk, out of reach of the main ships’ projectiles and far from land. Even if they stayed, there was no possible way to hold them all back, even with ballistas.

Sky knight swarms were predatory.  In theory, the best way to defend was through aggression. Though that theory accounted for armies of equal size - Minerva had never been outnumbered in the sky before.  _So, Michalis. This is how you want to play._

“Commander…” Catria begun, asking for an answer, an order, anything.

“Caeda!” Minerva cried out, just as the sky knight passed them by with the reins in hand. Her face was as pale as the sky above them.

“Minerva”, she said, almost in unison with Minerva’s cry. “You called this highly unlikely, and I haven’t made plans for this… Should we wait them out?“

“Absolutely not. Tell Marth to hurry it up with the small boats – Michalis’ troops will be on us before they have rowed halfway, but there are no other options. We have to respond, and get the grounded units to land. The five of us will keep Michalis’ loyalists busy in the air, shield the boats through a _claw formation_. You familiar?”

Caeda breathed deeply through her nose, then nodded. “Sure. I think so. Well, then the small boats can advance like this—“She put her fingertips together into a vague triangle shape; “—and then Merric and the archers can take them on from the bows of the small boats in the front. Easier for us to shield them. Does that make sense?”

Minerva noticed to her quiet dismay that the sailors had spotted the cloud as well, and they hesitated with their hands on the lowering ropes. They had to organize quickly, to avoid a panic.

“You know sea fare better than me”, Minerva answered her. “Go. I trust you.”

Caeda put a quick hand on Minerva’s shoulder in response, and Minerva met her wrist in a soldier’s handshake before Caeda let go and hurried on to find Marth.

Minerva threw another look on the cloud before them, and her stomach sank at the sight, even though she knew what awaited her.

Hundreds of sky knights. Hundreds, close enough to be spotted individually. And she’d go up against them with a total of five. _Five_ small dots in the sky. Ants facing an avalanche. What a humorless, morbid joke.

The war cry from Macedon’s crest bearers could make spirits and gods fall out of the sky. And for a quick moment, Minerva allowed herself to close her eyes and listen to her heart as it bled.

Palla’s hand stroked her neck, and with that Minerva stopped her listening and opened her eyes again. Palla closed in, her cheek touched Minerva’s. “Remember our promise”, she whispered.

Minerva embraced her back, forcing a trouble-free voice. “We won’t need to reinforce it today. We’ve fought worse than this.”

Palla hugged her tighter, did not force any brightness. “My heart is yours”, she said, lips moving against Minerva’s temple. “As is my sword, and I will not hesitate to strike down our own kin. Please... Do the same.”

“Of course”, Minerva answered her, allowed herself to speak with the same ache she felt. “A soldier never hesitates.” Michalis words repeated within Minerva subconsciously, and that made her fingers grow cold. She pushed the sensation away by brushing her lips against Palla’s cheek, before she moved away from the embrace.

 _Into the fray we go_. She mounted Titania, craned her neck to watch the skies. The small boats had been loaded and set into the water, and they were going into Caeda’s formation as quickly as they could. The front ship carried Merric and Gordin as their countermeasure – those two could carve a path if any attempt was made to take them from the front or sides. Hence, that ship also carried Marth – and, by extension, Tiki and Nyna – and Hardin, and only a few dozen others. Minerva immediately noted which one of the boats carried Maria. It was an instinct too strong to ignore, and she wasn’t ashamed in the knowledge that if anything went wrong, that was the ship she’d protect most fiercely.

She couldn’t doubt her decision. Michalis would expect the League to take a passive stance, would have planned for it. In the far off times when Michalis still bothered to spar with her, Minerva had noticed that she had to hit him with aggression, not give him the time to read the situation and produce his perfect little plans. Then again, that might be what he expected of her, now, too.

 There was no way to be sure, but she had to keep her confidence before the frightened glances. The League relied on her instincts to be true, and for her to shield them like that wasn’t a mad, impossible task.

 _Circle_ , she signalled, and her Whitewings took to the air. Caeda joined shortly after, a tail after Catria and Est. Minerva took a better hold of Hauteclere,  her eyes never swayed from the advancing cloud of enemies.

 _Await command_ , she signalled, and kept on the protective circling of the League. The boats bobbled like helpless ducklings in the water, where Macedon’s swarm was a flock of vultures closing in. Their cries a promise of impending doom.

Minerva’s estimation turned out to be correct. The League had gotten halfway to the harbor before the clash begun.

 _Ground blow_ , was Minerva’s first signal, then an immediate; _Engage claw formation._

She could hear the whistles from the captains in the knight academy inside her head, whistles meant to order around two dozen juniors, stumbling to fall into formation for the first time. Whistles of a time past, when juniors sailed down with bruises and laughter, when the concept of death was a distant, distant thought.  
  
Minerva hit the Dragoon-front from below. The whistle got to an immediate stop inside her head, as it was replaced by the clash of steel. Palla, Catria and Est crunched into the enemy front from the sides, Caeda from above. _Claw formation_ was meant to be a trap slamming shut, but Macedon was no stranger to such tactics. Minerva’s squad could interrupt the front, but the second row would devastate them with a surround, or a claw formation of their own if Minerva’s squad stayed in place.

Momentum was the single most important thing. Minerva cut at feet and wings, and rammed a Pegasus that hadn’t been quick enough. All within the time it took for her to let out a war cry of her own.

She dashed up behind the ones she’d injured; if the Whitewings had done their part, Minerva wouldn’t be crushed by the second wave rams _immediately_. And if the Whitewings _hadn’t_ done their part... She’d be squashed like a butterfly in a bee swarm before she’d drawn another breath.

A claw formation was meant for dozens of sky knights. That Minerva undertook the task of front-breaker all on her own was madness. Complete madness.

 

Michalis’ Dragoons closed in and surrounded her, though the Whitewings had bought her enough time to prepare for it. Steel and teeth glinted in a chaos around her, from above, below, _everywhere_. She spun Hauteclere in calculated blindness – she cut through every lance aimed for her, and smashed axes out of the hands of their masters, sliced wings and limbs. If a single sword got too close and countered her blows, she wasn’t long for the world.

And wherever her eyes turned, she was met by the proudly polished crests of Iote. So many nameless soldiers, knowing the stakes they fought for.

 

It could be a mistake. It could all be a mistake. Those soldiers seemed so eager to follow Michalis. Perhaps Minerva would ruin more than she mended in coming there. Perhaps Macedon would be happier, having sent their traitor princess into the crashing waves.

 _No_. She splintered a helmet with Hauteclere. _I will not hesitate._ Dying _wasn’t_ an option. This was her fight, and the fury within her was so much stronger than her grief.  


Feathers spread across the air on the opposite side of her axe. The cries of unknown knights drowned in the violent _tchunk_ of a bowstring. Two pegasi had their wings clipped by a single projectile, an arrow that shone like the sun. The knights swarming Minerva from below parted, but they could not escape the second shot. Anther _tchunk_ , and this time, three sky knights were pierced right through and tumbled down into the ocean.

Minerva recognized the glow of the arrows, even in the mess of battle. The projectiles parted the light, just like Gradvius and Mercurius did. _Parthia_. Gordin was using his regalia. Marth had wanted to save its limited power for their next dragon, but if they didn’t get through this, they wouldn’t see any more dragons. Gordin sent another arrow flying, and the magical strength of Parthia’s string sang over the ocean waves, rinsed the air around Minerva further.

She could finally gain air, be free of the crowd threatening to suffocate her. She caught her breath and searched for her Whitewings. They were still engaged with the front row, successfully keeping them away from the boats, and Caeda circled Marth’s boat furiously. She seemed to shout something and pointed with her lance at Merric, then up into the sky.

Merric did as he was told, and Minerva didn’t dawdle. She darted away to the front rows, just as wind magic washed over the back rows. She hadn’t been in the danger zone, but she’d rather stay as far away from that cursed magic as possible. Two dozen must have fallen in just that single spell, yet it was like they hadn’t even made a dent in the never-ending swarm.

 

The boats were nearing the docks, and that filled Minerva with temporary relief. Not that land was _that_ much safer for them, but at least they could properly fight back. All she had to do was keep doing the impossible – the Macedonans would plunge the second Minerva’s squad wasn’t a threat. So she had to remind them again and again.

She swept down like a pendulum to take as many down with her ram as she could, before she was once again in the midst of blades. Titania wasn’t a Pegasus, and she shouldn’t fight like one. The pegasi could dart to and fro where they were needed, while a wyvern could disrupt a formation by sheer force. Perhaps a wyvern knight was considered agile in a battle against ground forces, but all rules were different in the sky.

Minerva dived in. Dangerously close to their weapons. Then again, what _wasn’t_ dangerous in a battle against hundreds?

She aimed for whatever she could see. Heads. Wings. Arms. Helmets.

There was no time for her to be aware of her movements – her body did that on its own. It was better not to ask what only her axe could answer. _Heads._ _Wings. Arms. Helmets._

 

Opponents that were stuck on the ground were predictable; their main danger was the weapons they wielded. They had no teeth, no swishing tails, no reaching claws, and their hooves were too planted on the ground to be the same vicious clubs as that of a Pegasus.

In the sky, among knights like Minerva, there was no way to avoid it all. Teeth locked around Titania’s throat, tore at the leather of her harness; claws scraped in over Minerva’s shin-guards. The only way to stay afloat was to give retaliation, ten times the enemy’s. _Heads. Wings. Arms—_

 

Minerva ducked as another wyvern snapped after her. Titania responded on the intrusion with a thunderous roar and bit into their neck so violently that Minerva’s seat was whipped to the side. Minerva hugged the edge of the saddle with her free hand, and swung Hauteclere at the rider.

Whatever way she aimed, she left herself open. Another wyvern head bashed into her side, and she tipped over. Titania whipped and twirled to bite at the other attacker, but in doing so, Minerva’s footing was lost. She hung on only by the saddle front, her stomach still heaving from the blow.

There was no honor in a fight amongst territorial wyverns and their equally territorial knights. A downed rider was as good as dead, so having her out of her saddle was the best thing they could have done to finish her off.

Anyone halfway quick to think would use their lance or sword to cut the already torn saddle harnesses. And anyone halfway quick to think would predict them doing so. Minerva clung to Titania’s neck spikes with one hand, gritting her teeth furiously as she felt the saddle’s support disappear from beneath her other hand.

Dying wasn’t an option.

Her hand slipped along with the saddle. She took hold of the neck spikes with both hands, Hauteclere held on by only a finger. Sometimes, magic could be a good thing; if not for Hauteclere’s curious blessing, she would not have been able to hold on to it.

The saddle tumbled down behind Minerva, and Titania jolted and moved as to dive after it, but Minerva pulled at one of the reins to get her attention..

“I’m here!” Minerva yelled at her. “Stay _STILL_!”

Should Titania angle herself, she’d _definitely_ fall. And, dying aside, Minerva was tired of being cast off her mount by enemies with too much luck.

Titania snorted, and as she stared down on Minerva hanging on by a thread, her were pupils dilated enough to cover her whole eye. But despite the war fright, she obeyed and kept herself hovering. She even took a javelin to the face without more than a snarl, so Minerva could pull herself back up. A blade slashed the back of her neck, would have been lethal if she hadn’t moved. The wielder of that blade was the first to meet her retaliation, as soon as she had returned to Titania’s back.

Bare-back flights were only for those with a death wish, but Minerva couldn’t sulk about it. She hugged Titania’s neck with one arm. She could not afford to steer with the bridle anymore. She needed her other hand to swing Hauteclere, keep the swarm at bay.

She hadn’t been completely rammed as she hung free in the air. She could guess that there were archers looking out for her from below, and was ever grateful for it. Without them, this battle would be over already.

 

She commanded Titania to dive lower – a feat easier said than done since she had to command using her knees only, while her body shifted with the strokes and parries of her axe. On her third attempt, Titania plunged.

A javelin spun past her, aimed for their enemies. That meant Catria was all right. Worry shot through Minerva with an urge to search the sky and see if Palla was, too.

 _I can’t_ , she yelled back at herself, her jaw clenched tight. She hugged her knees to Titania’s side, feeling herself glide against the near frictionless surface of the reptilian scales. She ordered a fast turn, lashed out with Hauteclere at those that attempted to ram her from above. Titania twisted to avoid the point of a spear. Minerva threw both her arms around Titania’s neck,  stayed seated out of sheer will.

She lashed out blindly, felt some resistance as she cut through the gauntlet and hand of a sword that came in from the front of her.

She couldn’t stay there. She had to retreat further.

 

She was above ground, now, not ocean. And below her, the League’s colors bled into the orderly mass of red and gold before them. Marth had made it, then.

Arrows still rained up against the sky; they were no longer from the flashing strength of Parthia, but they halted the enemy flier advance all the same.

The white and blue streak of Caeda swished past Minerva and hammered into another wave of fliers. Minerva wasn’t sure to what row they belonged. By this point their enemy looked more like one disorganized scramble than a controlled swarm. Squad commanders signalled conflicting orders, as far as Minerva could tell – many of the signals were no doubt of Michalis’ own making. It didn’t matter that Minerva couldn’t catch the details – the enemy needed drill focus in order to break through Whitewings, arrows and magic. If Minerva could keep that from happening, keep them busy in the air for just a while longer, the League had a far better chance. They could be picked out by arrows one by one, add to the confusion.

Minerva ordered Titania to stop, let the squad of sky knights that had followed her catch up. Minerva’s legs were burning, and they shook as they chafed against hopelessly slippery scales, but she refused to give in to it.

Her yells merged with her enemy’s. Macedonan voices clashed, without recognition, without mercy.

Minerva cut a Pegasus’ wing clean in half. The rider tumbled into her comrade before she continued spiralling toward the ground. Minerva’s thighs were already bristling with the effort, yet she let go of Titania’s neck spikes with both hands, in order to hammer Hauteclere into the chest of another. It almost had her tip out entirely. She righted herself with a grunt.

“Commander”, she heard from above. Her narrow vision widened as she looked up. Est spun her lance in violent waving motions. She gave none of the enemies around them any lethal injuries, but enough to throw them off so she could get close. Minerva took the chance to order Titania to bash at a Pegasus with her tail, though it almost caused Minerva to slide off her back again.

“Commander, you’re _crazy_! You need a bloody saddle! Retreat! I’ll handle ‘em!”

Minerva regained her balance, and pelted her last throwing axe at a Pegasus knight behind Est. He dropped his lance, doubled over his mount.

“I take no orders”, Minerva yelled back. “ _Just fight_!”

She couldn’t feel her calves. Her thighs burned as though she had ignited her own bones. But Hauteclere bit at anyone coming too close.

Another familiar yell. From below, this time. Palla swept up from beneath Minerva, and drew her sword along the belly of an enemy wyvern before she once again disappeared from sight – only to reappear above another enemy to slice his neck open. Before the soldiers around her could react, she was gone again. Nothing could compare to her agility.

It thawed at Minerva’s heart to see her safe, and it released some of her face from the grip of stiffness.

Palla shot up beside her in the moment’s calm she’d bought them. Her breathing was heavy, and her lips moved, but Minerva heard nothing.

Another javelin spun through the air, as Catria swished past above them. _Enemy Dives_ , she signalled.

 _Engage High Formation Four_ , Minerva signalled back, her movements sloppy from hugging Titania at the same time. But the Whitewings responded, advanced into formation. Together, they drilled up on their enemy from below.

Blood got in her eye. She didn’t know where from, and she did not care.  She kept going, hurdled at anyone carrying the mark of her brother. The swarm had shrunk, and no longer tried to push past Minerva, they rather pushed her _down_. They danced their violent dance, right above Marth’s front. If she got pushed any further, the ground forces would be able to poke their lances at her.

She had to push them back up, but she had barely anything left to give.

The League’s advance on the ground had been interrupted by a wall of paladins. Caught in a snare with the fliers closing in. Two enemies plunged. Four. Eight. The flashes of Gradvius and Mercurius caught some, and Linde took down another. But Minerva was a leaking sieve, and Marth’s front was surrounded by the ground forces. They wouldn’t be able to free themselves. Or so Minerva thought, until the Macedonans froze, mid-strike.

A roar had echoed from below, one dragged out, otherworldly sound.

Minerva could spot a small, illuminated shape that had taken place at Marth’s side. The same voice that had hissed inside the corridors of the Fane of Raman now quaked the air in terror and anger.

“Stop! Do not harm them!” Tiki cried, far from her usual childish yells. That was the will of a Divine, and it awakened a force without likeness. Lights erupted from all around the frozen Macedonan paladins and sky knights, dissolved them into thin air.

 _She could have done that to begin with_ , Minerva thought darkly, but as she saw the small dragon flicker into the shape of a toddler unable to stand, she took it back. What was Tiki even doing out on the fields? She was meant to stay back, with Nyna.

Minerva had no time to ponder it. Tiki’s strange magic had only reached so far – higher up in the sky, the Macedonan swarm busied themselves with the attempt to bring themselves into order again.

Merric’s violent spells still tore at their ranks, and Caeda did not let anyone come even remotely near him. She was well versed in the skill of focusing on defending one single target – given her plentiful practice with shielding Marth.

 _Surround below_ , Minerva gestured at her Whitewings after a few heartbeats of rushed planning. She managed to not fall right off, as Titania took to the air. Together, they formed a small net as to keep them from doing any last, desperate plunges at the advancing League.

Catria threw some of her last javelins. Not that it mattered. The real danger for Michalis’ troops was the three archers and Merric. Michalis’ proud crest bearers fell, one by one by the dozen.

 

The Macedonans eventually realized their hopeless situation. Some tried to dart back over the mountains, only to be caught up by Palla – others tried to dive right down to take someone from the League with them in their death, only to be knocked out of the air by Est, and so it continued.

Some of them only hovered, tried to dodge the arrows and magic, looking for an opening. One Minerva saw, had a tear-streaked face as she looked right into the face of her princess. Her hair was flaming red under her helmet, like the blood that lay thick over her throat.

Minerva didn’t freeze at the sight. She let her heart bleed at the waste, at the horror within the eyes of one of her own, but she didn’t hesitate. Frightened or not, kinsmen or not, Minerva wouldn’t let Michalis’ poison be spread, anymore.

The tear-streaked soldier attempted to dive at Catria’s back when the opening came, and Minerva was there to stop her. That Pegasus knight was one of the last to tumble down, her Pegasus’ panicked neigh the last she must have heard.

 _Don’t_ , Minerva scolded herself, over and over. _Don’t let pity be the end of you._

She had to focus on staying on Titania, something that was getting harder by the second.

“Commander”, Catria shouted from beside her. “What’s next?”

The sun stung at Minerva’s eyes as she followed the tops of the mountains with her gaze.

The attacking swarm was not the full flying force. Merely half, Minerva gathered. Would there be reinforcements, or would Michalis save those knights to surround the capital and defend him? She blinked, hard, searched the skies for any new cloud coming from afar. But there was none.

The sky was empty.

 


	75. Turncoats and Smiling Traitors

Minerva’s mind raced with nothing. Siren-like screams of ‘ _don’t fall_ ’ rolled over every other comprehensible thought like a boulder down a slope. But of one thing she was sure – the sky was empty.

 _Empty_. No-one was holding her back, now. _Don’t fall—_ But the battle wasn’t over. _Don’t fall—_

She should _do something._ She couldn’t think of what. All her will focused on was staying seated.

“Ground forces are preparing a new assault!” Palla hovered closer and shouted over at Minerva, her hands around her mouth. Perhaps she had tried to signal that, earlier, but Minerva’s vision was blurred with exhaustion. Her eyelids were heavy, too – this could mean that she’d been injured worse than she thought, but she couldn’t recall...

She blinked, hard. Clarity returned. She could still barely focus on what was near, much less what was far away.

She squinted, first at Palla, just to test her sight, then down at the ground. It didn’t help much, but it cleared the fuzziness around the lines, enough for her to realize Palla was right.

 

A row of fifty or so paladins had taken off from the back lines as Marth’s front staggered closer, their horses melting into a spear-like formation. Tip aimed right at the League. It was perfect discipline, for the few moments it lasted.

It could be a mere trick of her eyes, but after just a few galloping steps forward, the formation shattered. Three knights in the blurry rear broke loose, turned on whoever was in reach of their lances. That forced the ones behind them to stop, and some of the ones in front of them to turn around.

The tip of the spear formation continued, but the west flank of it was in complete disarray. The turncoats stabbed down their own, with devastating precision, making way for their retreat.

Minerva shielded her eyes and tried her best to follow them. The battle fires inside her slowly reignited – on exhausted coals, but at least it was _something_ – and it returned her tunnel-like focus.

The turncoats were outfitted like the rest of the Macedonan army. Tiny red dots for armor and smooth steel helmets that glinted in the sun. Minerva considered the possibility of a secret plan on Marth’s part, to settle some scouts into the Macedonan army just to sabotage – though that didn’t make any sense to her. The formation-break had happened a long way behind the League’s advance, and the only way to get so far would be from the north, considering the narrow gateway into Macedon’s borders. And the entirety of the League now struggled in a literal uphill battle from the south. The turncoats _couldn’t_ be the League’s own.

Could be a trap, though. A way to lure her in. Michalis knew how Minerva’s mind worked, and she hated him for it, hated herself for the doubt he spread.

The Whitewings waited for her signal. Catria had pulled her headband back over her head so it lay flat over her head, a javelin impatiently over her shoulder. Palla hovered right by her, and Est was twitching in the saddle. Caeda was already down by the front again, prioritizing her foremost duty in defending Marth, now that she could.

Minerva’s whole body burned, not only with the pulsating energy of battle, but of pain that didn’t mix well with the restlessness. _Do something!_

The turncoats were cut off before her eyes; they were caught the same way a bucket scoops up water, by the whole west flank framing them. The three traitors attempted to turn, but their space to move was far too narrow. All they could do was make a full stop and face the end that awaited those who disobeyed a king.

Minerva discarded her suspicion. If these traitors were anything close to allies, she couldn’t afford to lose them.

_Charge_ , she signalled. Some feeling had returned to her legs, and she managed to hold on through the last dive.

The turncoats were surrounded by their fellow Macedonans by that point, unable to break loose. They stepped in circles with their horses, back to back. They were outnumbered – though not for long.

Minerva took down two in one sweep. Second dive, and she took down two more. Neither had had the time to redirect their weapons at her. She was but a shadow, cast over their faces before their last breath was drawn.

Macedonan or not, these paladins were stuck on the ground, useless and immobile compared to what she’d just rinsed from the sky. How much easier it was. Hauteclere danced despite her aching shoulders and numbing legs.

She hadn’t given any specifics in her signals, but she didn’t need to. Palla had followed her down to the cluster of surrounding soldiers, whereas Catria and Est swept down at the remainder of the spear formation to help Caeda relieve Marth’s main front. There were times Minerva thought of her Whitewings as an extension of herself, and they were, without a doubt.

With their air strike, Minerva and Palla managed to create a pocket of temporary peace around the turncoats. Unless the Macedonan front decided to retreat, they could breathe safely for a few precious moments. And, Minerva had to admit, the solidity of the ground looked rather tempting. She'd have to face her fate, and obey her screaming mind – she couldn’t fly for a moment longer.

Not that the ground was _that_ much better. The stability made it possible for her to regain her balance, but she had to give all her willpower just to sit straight.

 

She kept her eyes locked on the three strangers. She half-expected them to run. If they were deserters, wouldn’t that be what they wanted? Though, if they were deserters, they surely weren’t doing it the easy way – that would be to run hidden by the quiet of the night. Not with an act of what looked like self-sacrifice. These knights had to be fighters, through and through.

The turncoats stayed in place. Their weapons were lowered, and one of them went so far as to sheathe their sword. All three stared back at her from beneath their visors, not speaking a word. If it was a yield, it was a strange, quiet way to do it.

One of them finally moved. He rode closer, and removed his visor.

Minerva’s arm did not tremble when she raised Hauteclere toward his face.

She recognized this knight. Not enough to know who he was, but his presence sparked a whisper of silent terror inside her. His face chafed at her mind, a memory clawing its way into remembrance.

Minerva kept her eyes on his lance. It was currently at his side, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Her arm twitched as he moved, but instead of what she expected, the knight gave a deep bow in the saddle. Then he opened his mouth. No sound came. He closed it again. Cleared his throat.

“General”, he said, finally. “Please, we... We will not harm you, your... majesty.”

Minerva squinted at the inaccurate honorific – he wasn’t addressing a _queen_ – and with that final bit of focus, full recognition dawned on her. Shot through her like a stab in the chest.

That was the face of a young junior knight. A face etched into her memory, both before and after being crushed by her axe in front of the Macedonan throne.

That boy couldn’t be alive, but as Minerva had learned during her days in Aurelis, the boy that had been Michalis’ first kill-order had a brother. A lieutenant in her invasion force. By all means no one worth remembering, if it wasn’t for the familiar features that sometimes remained and cried to Minerva during her nightmares.

Minerva lowered Hauteclere. He wasn’t a threat. She remembered a hopeful, honest soldier, and there was nothing that openly disproved that in the way he posed himself.

“Lieutenant”, she greeted him. She couldn’t remember _his_ name, but his _brother’s_ , she’d never forget.

The lieutenant inhaled sharply, and if he had been stumbling and disbelieving before, it was nothing compared to the shock of being recognized.

Palla soared down and landed beside Minerva, fresh blood on the edge of her sword. Yells and war cries came from both the front and rear, as the remaining three pegasi swished past above them to keep enemies off the assembly around Minerva. There wasn’t time to spare for rest and talk, but Minerva didn’t have much of a choice. She had to sort these turncoats out, even if she’d have to make it quick.

“Why did you attack your fellow soldiers?”

“They are no fellows of ours”, the lieutenant answered her. “We... infiltrated this army, as we have done others.”

Another turncoat rode to the former lieutenant’s side, removing her visor. “We are the Queen’s Guard. Our lives are yours.”

“The _what-_ Guard?” Palla whispered under her breath. Minerva shot her a quick look, searching for any kind of answer. Both she and Palla would know of every traditional knight-division in the Macedonan army, so this was clearly not one of them. Michalis might have created some divisions of his own, but with such a name... Was it intentional, a means to instill confusion? Were they remnants of her mother’s mercenary squad? Though if so, why would that matter in their choice to stand calmly in front of her axe, claim their lives to _her_ , and not Michalis?

She didn’t have time for further questions and ponderings. Trap or not, she might as well use this.

“This battle isn’t over”, Minerva said, ignoring Palla’s pointed gaze reminding her of caution. “Will you fight with the League?”

The knights nodded as one.  “For as long as you are”, the woman said. “Your majesty.”

The honorific couldn’t be a mistake, which simply increased her confusion. Minerva’s head was already spinning with all the blows she’d taken. Perhaps this was the inevitable day she’d actually hit her head _too_ hard. She didn’t trust her ears, but she chose to trust her gut that these turncoats were allies, or at the very least, that they had a common enemy.

“Well then, we charge!” she called to them, Hauteclere aimed behind her back as a way to point out their targets.

She still wasn’t sure where to go. Her orders purely improvised, through a quick scan over the battlefield. If they flanked the enemy general’s entourage in the rear, they probably wouldn’t be in the way for anyone else. _Probably_. Minerva’s plans had never truly extended further than the sky for this battle, and she couldn’t let go of the thought, even now. She kept her eyes glued to the inland horizons as she urged Titania into a ground gallop.

Michalis could send so much more her way. So, so much more. And if he did? Would she be able to face them in the sky again? Without the harness that kept her in place, she was sliding from side to side with every leap Titania took. Sooner or later she would plump down on the ground like a sack of beetroots.

Both Est and Catria shot her a look when they swept up by her side, sailing on the wind while Titania’s feet thrummed over the ground. Minerva returned their looks, answering their concern with iron. She would see this through.

 

The crests of Iote lay scattered on broken torsos all over the field. More came to join them as Minerva’s squad reached the general’s entourage.

The turncoats, or queen-guards, or whatever they were, showed their former companions no mercy. In the mess of battle, they looked just the same as their enemies, so Minerva ordered Titania to go in a loop around them in order to shield them from anyone in the League who could mistake them for a target. Marth’s front chafed through the Macedonans, wasn’t anywhere near Minerva’s position, but they still let their arrows fly at anyone who looked like an enemy. Minerva wouldn’t take any chances.

Every grounded knight was another grain of sand tipping the scales, but even so, Michalis’ troops stood their ground. Minerva shouldn’t be surprised that they didn’t retreat, not when she reached far enough to see – and _hear_ – their general.

“Fight, you worms”, the general fumed over the field. Minerva hadn’t recognized him earlier, _couldn’t_ have with the helmet only revealing part of his face and that she’d never seen him on a horse before – but his voice... Accompanied by the rattle of chains and the grave faces of the kingdom’s judges, that voice had frightened her, once.

“ _You’ve already decided I’m guilty of your fancy ‘murders’, what can I say? You didn’t give me enough bandits to keep me busy, so those kids dying are on you, your majesty!”_

Minerva’s hours overlooking her father’s trials were a haze, a distant, irrelevant past, except for this one mad scream. This voice had purred contentedly too, in a much more recent memory where blades of all kinds had been ready to dig into the tiny, cluelessly smiling face of Est. And they would have, at the simplest order from Michalis—

“Orridyon!” Est’s cry cut through all underlying noise. “I came back to _visit_ , just like I promised! I hope you don’t mind I’m _six years late_!”

Est’s lance staggered Orridyon’s horse, and she darted away before he could retaliate. His lance swept in a wide, fruitless arc, left himself open for Catria’s javelin as it slammed into his head.

“You’re the bastard that kept Est”, Catria cried down at him. “You’re _so_ dead!”

“I am the _First General_ ”, Orridyon howled back, his helmet lopsided and his horse in a frenzy. “You’re _filthy rebels_ and you’ve come to the _wrong kingdom_ —!”

Est swept back without mercy. Orridyon’s yells were cut short by a winded groan as he hit the ground. Minerva was a breath away from reaching him with Titania’s jaws herself, though one of the turncoats beat her to it.

The turncoat found Orridyon’s throat with her lance, and she dug it down hard enough for it to stick into the ground. When she let go of it, it stayed in place, embedded in the general’s final, defying breaths.

“Stop”, she cried, her hands in the air. Minerva reined Titania in, before she realized it wasn’t to her the turncoat knight spoke. “Macedonans, stop! You’re surrounded! Your general is defeated! Stand down, for the sake of your princesses—“

The knight’s pleas didn’t do much good. A battleaxe struck into her horse, toppled her to the ground in a heap of painful neighs. Minerva gave Titania the order to punce, but she was far from the only one reacting to the attack. Gradvius slid through the enemy’s armor before Minerva got close. It punched the soldier back into the soldiers behind him, while Titania slammed his horse to the ground.

The rest of the Macedonans hesitated at that. They looked around with their breaths in their throats, weapons lowered.

They really were surrounded. Prince Marth himself stood bloodied and tousled beside Draug, who carried Tiki on his shield-arm; and behind the two of them was the crescent moon of the League, closing in from all sides.

 

Minerva didn’t believe the Macedonans’ hesitation, not at first. She expected double-crosses and blades at her back, even now; but when she spotted Maria’s exhausted, tear-streaked face, she knew what she should do. She lowered her own weapon, and made Titania slide closer – though not close enough to be an open threat.

“Hardin, _stay back_ ”, she shouted. Hardin had readied another strike at the mass of Macedonans, but at her call, he stopped. He gave her a questioning look.

“My fellow countrymen”, Minerva said as she turned to the Macedonans huddled close before her. “I am Princess Minerva, Descendant of Iote, and I do not _want_ to be your enemy. My brother and I may share the same blood, but we’ve never shared the idea that Macedon belongs on the same side as the dragons who think themselves our masters.”

Most Macedonans’ readied their weapons again, but none moved to strike. That was good, at least.

Minerva cast a glance to the side, met Marth’s solid gaze. He hadn’t objected in any way; rather, he seemed to be smiling beneath the exhaustion on his face. And, further away, Maria was pushing herself forward in order to reach the final commotion.

 _Maria._ Perhaps it wasn’t wholly impossible to do things her way, after all. It was worth a try.

“Surrender and your lives will be spared”, Minerva shouted out over the people she so dearly wanted to call her own. “You will be free to go, I swear it; but your freedom will never be true for as long as my brother remains your king. I call upon to you, join us in the fight. The League will set the world on the course of peace.”

Words came easily when she gave her heart a voice, but she knew nothing was ever easily given. Least of all trust. She’d just let her mount crush a horse in front of their eyes, and Macedonan blood ran over the edge of her axe and beneath her wyvern’s claws – what sane soldier would look past that and listen to her talk of ‘ _peace_ ’? She didn’t expect anything other than one cry breaking the dam of silence, followed by a rush of angry foes upon them again.

But nobody moved. They hugged their weapons’ hilts with cramp-like grips, stared at her or Marth with fury and fear, but they didn’t move.

 _They obviously won’t trust you, and you can’t trust them either_ , a part of Minerva whispered. _Do this the easy way. Just be rid of them_.

Michalis would have killed them without a second thought. She clenched her jaw at the thought. _I am not he_.

The silence was eventually broken. But not by war cries.

One or two swords dropped to the ground, before the soldiers the weapons belonged to pushed their way through the crowd and fled the field. Prince Hardin and his bow paladin’s stepped out of the way, though not before Hardin gave Minerva a narrow look.

 _Yes, I know_ , she wanted to shout at him. This was foolish. Of course she knew that. But she didn’t act to stop them.  
  
Other soldiers took a few steps back, their eyes wide as they regarded their traitor princess. They hesitated, measuring their possibilities. Then they followed the first soldiers’ example. A single mass of about twenty injured and frightened people took to the woods.

And five soldiers stayed still in the middle of the movement, like rocks in a flowing creek.  They stood tall when the others had gone, despite being without the comfort of hiding in a crowd. Despite being alone before an army.

The man in the front of the little gathering stepped toward Minerva. He kept his palms open in a show of surrender, before he bent a knee in an elegant courtesy.

“I am captain Rucke, Your Highnesss”, he introduced himself.  “This lot is my personal squad. And we are not cowards. We will take your offer.”

Minerva kept her gaze steady, even though she was tempted to let it dart away – to Palla, or Marth, or anyone else who could face this interaction in her stead. She wasn’t sure what to answer, hadn’t thought that far. Although she didn’t need to answer anything at all, it seemed. The captain continued all on his own.

“You speak true, Princess, of where Macedon’s allegiance should and _shouldn’t_ lie. My sole wish is to see Macedon strong, unrivaled and unthreatened, as His Majesty would provide. Though they were planning to send in _dragons_ to oversee us – I would not stand for such unspeakable dishonor, and that is why I am here. For speaking out of turn to His Majesty, we were sent to the fodder-lines.”

The captain looked up from his courtesy and smiled, though in his face Minerva saw no genuineness. She’d seen enough of that sort of smile in her time with Doluna – it was an expression meant to disarm any suspicion of malice. The captain’s men weren’t any better. They seemed relaxed, but at the same time, they reminded Minerva of people with their arms twisted behind their backs.

“Maybe it was not only luck has kept us alive, despite His Majesty’s order”, Rucke continued, “but fate. I certainly wish to join your cause, Princess.” He gestured back at the four remaining Macedonans behind him. “I speak for all of us. Thank you most graciously for your offer. You will not regret your choice, I swear it.”

Minerva’s eye twitched, and the man became blurry before her before she could adjust her sight again. She already _did_ regret it. A captain under Michalis – and she was supposed to let him roam free? _Gods_ no. If Michalis had truly wanted this man dead, he might still become a problem. What would win back the king’s favor more easily than his middle sister’s corpse, dragged up to his throne?

Maria had reached the front, and she stood with Titania’s front leg as support. The way she looked at the survivors, bowing down to Minerva... She wasn’t _happy_ , she was far from it, but her hand was released from a fist, her forehead free from the knotted frown. Minerva glanced down on her, and though she didn’t’ speak, she hoped Maria understood what she wanted to say. _This is for you_.

“I welcome you, Rucke”, Minerva said to the captain. “Until we have figured out a place for you, I put you under the command of a fellow paladin, Prince Hardin.”

The Aurelian prince reared back a little at that, mouthing a ‘ _what?!’_. Minerva pretended not to see it. Marth would have decided the same, she was sure of it. And it was only temporary. She just needed space to think for one second. One bloody second.

Her eyes were on Marth, now. The prince smiled, a smirk she recognized well by now. As if he was reading the people around him like books, and liked what he read.

 “Sire”, she said. “You may voice any disapproval for my actions.”  
  
“Oh, I have none, rest assured.” He stretched his back, brushed the tousled hair out of his eyes and turned to the army behind him. When he spoke, his voice echoed over the open field, unnaturally amplified. Merric’s or Linde’s handiwork, as per usual.

“Friends!” he cried. “Victory is ours!”

He was met by a thunderous cheer that stilled as he lifted his arms.

“We do not know when the Macedonans will intercept us again”, he continued. “So please, stay vigilant! We begin setting up camp here, outside the harbor. Now, care for the wounded, and rest properly; we march north in the morrow!”

The mass of soldiers disbanded. The buzz of their voices turned into a throb inside Minerva’s head. She watched silently as Hardin rode toward her and leaned closer.

“I assume you want me to not let my eyes off these ones?” he whispered, with a pointed look at Rucke and his men, who had assembled around Hardin’s paladins with polite smiles and nervous nods.

“Precisely. Thank you”, Minerva answered him blankly. “I promise it is not for long.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gave her a vague shrug. “I can handle a few surprises, friend. Just don’t expect me to clean up any messes that might come with.”

She only shrugged vaguely back, watched him return to his men. He slammed the butt of Gradvius into the ground, something that had the five Macedonans stiffen into salutation.

Minerva’s head throbbed even worse at the sight of the captain’s smile growing beneath the respect in his salute. He looked so content. He had reason to feel distaste for Macedon if his tale was true, but did all this death not bother him in the slightest? They had been his comrades more than Minerva’s.

She decided that it didn’t matter. Right then, all she wished for was sleep. Michalis could appear like lightning from a clear sky, and still all she would do was to close her eyes and rest against Titania’s neck.

She let her forehead feel the thrum of Titania’s pulse, closed out the world in the space of a few breaths, before she willed her eyes to open again.

She settled her gaze on the turncoat soldier who had attempted to speak to their enemy. The knight had struggled up from the mess of her injured horse, and was currently trying to keep the animal calm. Lena was crouching at her side, helped heal both their wounds, before she moved on to the rest of the front. She didn’t bat an eye at the turncoat’s Macedonan crest – such things never mattered to Lena. Be they enemy or friend, if they lived and didn’t actively try to kill her, she would tend to their wounds.

Maria should have gone to assist her, but she stayed rooted in place. She’d come to Titania’s side, placed a hand gently against her scales, and hadn’t moved.

“You’ve got blood on your knees”, Maria said – it was a sudden break of silence between them, without a single look at Minerva.

 _Isn’t there blood EVERYWHERE?_ Minerva was tempted to answer her, but that didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the time or place to snap at anyone, least of all Maria. So Minerva merely bent her head to look.

It was subtle to spot, but Maria was definitely right. Minerva’s tinted armor hid almost all hints at injury; but beneath the plates and leather over her kneecaps, the linen of her pants was chafed away in places, the fringes colored red.

She tried to move her legs, with immediate regret. Her attempt to stretch came with a surge of pain so strong she bit the inside of her cheek with a crack.

“It still hurts?” Maria’s head tilted up and she finally looked Minerva in the eye. The corners of her eyes were crackled, gleamed of fresh tears, and her voice rang empty. Minerva would have removed her gauntlet and stroked her shoulder, if only she could have moved.

“Can’t be surprised”, Maria muttered and carefully prodded Minerva’s right knee. “You’ve chafed it to the bone. I closed the wound, but the damage to your tendons is without quick-fix. Sorry.”

The fact that Minerva had not noticed Earth magic’s embrace was proof enough of the extent of her injuries. That she remained on Titania’s back was at this point only by virtue of the wyvern standing impeccably still and Minerva’s legs being locked in some sort of cramp.

 

All around her, the soldiers left without a word or a glance her way. Though some – Draug and Gordin the only two she could name – were clueless enough of their pain to shout ‘ _yeah, now that’s a good fight, sky knights!_ ’ and give a wave in their direction. As if the hundreds of wyverns and pegasi crushed on the field wasn’t each like a bleeding laceration in their hearts.

Minerva didn’t answer them, too busy gritting her teeth while Maria prodded at her shin. Catria responded to any such cheers with a stiff nod, then returned to silently watch over the former turncoats, and Est only waved a little, busy with searching the bodies of Orridyon and his closest men for anything valuable. Palla ignored them as well. She had dismounted, and was crossing over to Titania’s side opposite Maria. She stopped, and was silent for the duration of a few heartbeats.

“Minerva”, she whispered through pale lips. Her voice trembled, with anger, or with worry? Perhaps both. “Minerva, just... I cannot believe you... First of all, please dismount. Before you fall.”

“Yeah”, Minerva whispered back. “Would love to. But. I cannot move.”

Palla was about to say something else – Minerva could certainly guess _what_ – but she never got the opportunity. Maria had placed a careful hand on Minerva’s greaves, and her magic relaxed the pent-up muscles in her legs. Which caused Minerva to finally lose all footing and haplessly slide to the side.

Palla’s arms fumbled to catch her as she tipped, face bumping into Minerva’s shoulder. New pain, everywhere, but Minerva didn’t have the energy to cry and complain about it. Her choices always hurt in the end, this wasn’t any different.

“Sorry, my fault!” Maria peeked forth from behind Titania, her eyes and voice no longer empty. “Minerva, are y— Oh, good, you’re fine. Sorry! Wanted to release the cramps of pain to get a better sense for the damage to your tendons, and uhm, they’re... Bad.“

Minerva didn’t know what to answer. She was half cradled in Palla’s arms, half holding on to Titania’s neck, and she was pretty sure the back of her head had started to bleed again. The wyvern’s head was turned to peek at her, in an attempt to understand what was going on. Her pupils were returned to their normal size, and she nibbled at Minerva’s boot with a concerned huff.

“Maybe it’s better if you come by the healers’ tent, when it’s set up”, Maria said, Titania’s sniff in her hair causing it to whip about. Minerva only nodded in answer, before she felt her support disappear. Palla righted her and forced her to stand on legs that did not carry, though Palla was quick to pull Minerva’s arm behind her neck, and her own behind her back. The way a soldier was trained to uphold the injured, though with the slight deviation from tradition in the way Palla leaned her cheek against her head.

With that, Minerva managed to limp forward. She breathed a ‘ _thank you_ ‘ to Palla, who only hugged her tighter in response. Minerva longed so much to find a desolate place to collapse, but there was one thing left she had to address. She patted Palla’s shoulder as a sign of direction, and hopped around to the tiny turncoat force.

The new allies were busy with helping their companion’s horse stand, though when Minerva looked to them, they all interrupted their business to bow. Far deeper than they should.  
  
“Your majesty!” The speaker was the woman who had attempted to appeal to the spared Macedonans. Minerva could only nod her head. She’d go with ‘ _your majesty_ ’ for now, without protest.

“I am grateful for your help”, Minerva said to them. “And the League welcomes you.” She quieted, regarded them silently. She should put someone to guard them as well, just like she had with Rucke. She simply couldn’t _afford_ to trust. Something she’d repeated to her peers whenever there was talk of peace, and now she wasn’t living up to it. She definitely deserved Hardin’s confused and annoyed scowls.

She was too tired to truly care. This had to be the right choice, in the end.

“Catria here will show you around and give you a task”, she told the turncoats. “Oh, and Est will follow you as well.” These were obviously fighters, she’d do well to be careful; but she was also not as suspicious as she was for Rucke’s men. She’d seen these people fight their own, rather than simply put their weapons down when the victor showed mercy. She’d like to sort them out better, at some point when she _wasn’t_ moments from dropping down on the ground.

“When the camp’s all set”, Minerva continued, “would you... would you join me for a drink of water, and share a fire with us?”

All three turncoats stared at her as if she’d offered them the moon and stars. “That would be... an honor”, her former lieutenant answered.

Minerva waved at him, tried to not come off dismissive in her exhaustion. “Great. Good. I’d like a word especially about your, hm, choice of... name. But right now I could kill for the option to sit down, so don’t linger here. You’re within axe-range.”

Her voice didn’t clarify that she was joking, but the odd threat in her words apparently didn’t bother them. They saluted Minerva and the way their hands found their hearts... What had been corrupted into a gesture of fear and hate over her years as the Crimson Dragoon, became a gesture of faith and beauty again.


	76. A Shared Cause

The ceiling of the tent looked ready to collapse on itself. Folds sagged inward and moved dangerously with the wind. From the outside, it had looked more like a forgotten sack draped over a tree rather than the healers’ tent Minerva knew, and from the inside, it looked even worse. Draug had promised he’d raise it quicker than ever, and that he surely had.

Minerva kept staring at the folds, daring them to fall on her and force her to act. Despite the pain, she couldn’t enjoy lying still. Not while she could hear the clamor of the camp getting in order and conversations describing their latest battle and its aftermath, rumors spreading fast among those who had not been there to witness the Macedonans being granted mercy. She could feel those conversations point at her like needles in her back. Her mind still raced, even as she lay on soft heathers and furs.

Maria’s presence didn’t help. It rather invited the restlessness even further into her skull.

Minerva’s attempts to speak to her had been all but fruitless. Maria kept busy with her batch of salves and vulnerary’s, her eyes staring at everything and nothing. ‘ _I don’t want to talk about it_ ’, she’d said when Minerva asked how she was feeling.

Her hands had shivered, before she settled into a focused trance. Minerva could liken it to her own battle fires, although on Maria’s part it aimed to do the opposite of harm. The healing magic washed over her in waves, forced her body to sink further into the heathers as she relaxed, releasing the tenseness of pain – a feeling that contradicted everything else on her mind.

The ground didn’t feel very different here. She had almost expected it to, like she’d feel homely just from being close to the earth that had nurtured her. But it felt like everywhere else. Hard against her back, smelling of thawing earth.

She couldn’t wait to get up and run. Drive her axe into a tree. Though wherever she ventured outside the camp, she’d see traces of cracked Macedonan armor. She couldn’t run from that.

Maria had been completely still for a while. At first, Minerva had believed her to simply sit focused and rinse through dozens of complicated spells, but she was a bit _too_ still, a bit _too_ quiet. She stared at Minerva’s left knee like she was examining it thoroughly, but the emptiness in her gaze gave the impression she didn’t seem to actually look for anything at all.

If she was done, and waiting for Minerva to leave, then she should. Minerva had passed plenty of injured as she leaned on Palla and limped toward the healers’ tent, so this was a space she shouldn’t occupy unnecessarily. She hesitated, still.

She pitched herself up on her elbows, looking for some sort of reaction. There was none. Only a thick wall between them.

Minerva opened her mouth to ask if she should leave, but Maria spoke before her.

“Did you see Julian?”

Minerva shut her mouth again, her buzzing mind trying to make sense of the question. “Yes— I mean, when?”

Maria stared at her knee even more intensely. She wasn’t looking for anything but an excuse to not look anywhere _else_ , Minerva realized.

“Now. After. Was he all right? Did he seem in pain?” Her voice cracked. “Is he... Is he even alive?”

Minerva raked through the blurry images of the hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers that had moved around her. She’d seen Julian somewhere, she was sure. Carrying Lena’s supplies, looking spry and ready to whip his bag over his shoulder at Lena’s command.

“I saw him”, Minerva answered. “He looked no different from the usual. Uhm, do you mind if I ask; why him?”

Maria’s gaze shivered, then she shrugged. Sat completely still for a few more moments, before her eyes darted up on Minerva and she shrugged again. The wall between them crackling slightly.

Minerva sat up properly, for a quick moment noting that her pain was all but gone, and stretched out her arm. A careful invitation, nothing more, but Maria almost toppled her as she crawled into the embrace and held her tightly.

“Hey”, Minerva whispered, in a weak attempt at consolation as the crashing waves of battle struck down on her in the forms of Maria’s tears. She cried quietly, but Minerva could still hear her little sobs.

“T-the-re was a-a knife”, she blubbered incoherently. Minerva held on, leaning her head against Maria’s as she let out a few more sounds that could have been words. Simply hearing it nearly brought Minerva herself to tears, but she pushed them back. Right now she’d be a big sister, and not a failed princess, dripping of death. “A-and blood... He— I was— T-hink-ing he de-ad—“

 Minerva stretched her back, adjusting her seat, and carefully pried the staff out of Maria’s hands and out of her face. “Little candle... When was this?”

“The boats!” Maria let out another sob, but she at least adjusted herself too, placing her legs across Minerva’s so that she sat somewhat comfortably in her lap.

“She was in the water, Minerva, she was right there— Her wyvern had plunged into the ocean, but she swam and reached for the railing... I didn’t do anything! I didn’t _know_ what to do! She needed help, and I thought that maybe there was room for her in the boat too, but when she pulled herself up she had a knife drawn and I still didn’t do anything and Julian—”

She cut herself off with a choking sound, and Minerva squeezed her gently. Let her cry. There wasn’t time for anything clever to say. No such thing as a clever answer existed to something like this. Minerva rested her cheek against Maria’s hair, until her tears stilled.

“I should have talked to her”, Maria hiccupped, her words much more coherent. “I could have told her who I was, that I would promise she wouldn’t be harmed, that she didn’t _need_ to fight – but I just froze and by then it was too late! She pulled out her knife out of Julian and I— I shot— And after that I just killed... _everyone_! I thought I could talk to them! _Why couldn’t I talk to them_?”

Minerva felt her push away from her, and she immediately let go and let Maria sit up straighter. Her chest heaved with every breath, but she still leaned down and plucked the staff off the ground, her hands clasping it in search of security.

“This isn’t what home should feel like”, Maria said finally. “I thought I was ready, that I was... Braver...“

Minerva pulled at her dampened collar, then let her hands rest in her lap. “Little candle”, she said, struggling to fight her own tears. “You’ve never lacked bravery.”

“It wasn’t enough”, Maria bristled. “How could it be enough when people die so pointlessly? I was just a coward who didn’t dare to risk getting near them.”

“Maria—“

“I know you think they would never listen! But they listened to you, when you let them go! _You_ did that, while I just... stood by.“

“Reason won’t reach those surrounded by a fire”, Minerva said, colder than she’d meant to. “They will do all they can to get out. A yield, should they even notice it _before_ they pin you down, would be seen as a means to lure them further into the flames... But a hand reached out when they are all but cornered and have no other choice than to listen... It’s different.”

Maria’s tears still flowed, but quietly. “It’s not fair.”

“I know it isn’t.”

“How do you do it?” Maria asked her, reddened eyes looking up at her. “How do you know what to do?”

The answer nearly slipped out of her – ‘ _I don’t’_ – but she only smiled and let a few tears of her own escape her grasp. “I defend those I hold dear, and all else matters little. I’m sorry this battle hurt you so, I wish I could...” She trailed off. She’d be infinitely relieved if Maria chose to stay behind, but she didn’t find the words to speak it.

Maria only shook her head, and stared down at her hands as if they were cursed.

“This wasn’t how my first day home was supposed to go. I feel like the world is laughing at me.” She breathed deeply, then let out a long sigh. “...I want to bury them.”

Minerva’s stomach lurched, but she nodded. “Of course we will. And if... _When_ we come back here, we make sure that a memorial stone is raised for their sake.”

“It won’t undo this”, Maria whispered back.

“It won’t”, Minerva agreed. “But just as Michalis’ deeds cannot ever be undone, neither can ours. We just hope it can be worth it, in the end.”

Maria only bent her head, stared into the ground instead. “I hate this day”, she said, wrenching the staff in her hands. “It’s the worst.”

She remained in Minerva’s lap, rested her head against her shoulder and breathed deeply and slowly. Shadows moved outside of the half-collapsed tent, voices of merriment and disagreement blending together with the thrum of hooves and hammers. She could make out Cain’s voice in the murmur, calling for order. He knew how to make himself heard. ‘ _Get your injured buddies over here! Healer won’t be but a moment and soon you’ll be feeling fine like a... Like a summer morning! Wha—? Gordin, stop your whining! You won’t bleed to death from a little scratch! Wait like the others, will you?’_

Maria let out a quiet laugh, a sound that lifted a hundred weights off Minerva’s shoulders. “I told him to improvise.”

“So I’m holding up the line?” Minerva smiled thinly. “I’m sorry.”

Maria shook her head. “No, no, I just... I needed to collect myself. Though I’m glad I didn’t ask you to leave when Palla pulled you in here, sis.”

“Do you feel up to doing all this work now, though? You deserve a rest.”

“And so do hundreds more, that I can help rid of their pains. I’m ready.”

“Can I walk, then?” Minerva joked.

“Yeah”, Maria chuckled. “Take it easy, though... I haven’t ever given a wyvern a ball of yarn, but I’d imagine that’s sort of what your knees looked like.”

“Sorry you had to see that.”

“I’ve seen worse.” Maria smiled and cast a look behind her, toward the opening of the tent. “Like... Cain’s cooking.”

Cain had popped his head in beside the tent flap, and he raised his brows at the mention of his name. “I dunno what you’re talking about”, he said. “But heck Maria, if you’re feeling better, I’m all glad for you. Gordin is fussing a lot though, so maybe I could let him come?”

“I _do_ feel better.” Maria glanced up on Minerva, and beneath the sorrow, her own special little light burned. Then she looked back on Cain with a nod. “Thank you so much, Cain. Please. Let them in. I’m ready for them.”

  
\---

  
No matter how many times their campsites changed, no matter how rushed its set-up became, its layout remained. The camp’s many helping hands had a set routine, and stuck to it.

Thus, Minerva didn’t have to think too hard to find her way. Her tent would be in the northwestern area, only two rows away from the armory tent with its red stripe aligned along its roof instead of its walls. And only two rows further, a circle of stones would be laid out to mark the spot for a campfire, where Palla had said to meet her.

Palla had slipped out of the healers’ tent as soon as Maria arrived, promptly refused any treatment for her own injuries. She’d clasped her palms before she left, Minerva had noticed. A sign of her silent worry. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with the thought of her sisters being outnumbered guarding capable fighters, Minerva could guess.

If so, Palla wasn’t alone in her sentiment. Minerva had to dodge a whole crowd of people as she made her way forward, some of whom were preparing small campfires of their own, rather than preparing the usual bonfire. _That_ was different.

Had to be an order from higher up, considering how organized the preparations seemed, and how secluded the northwestern area had become. A place avoided.

The usual new recruit was an eager farmhand, or a merchant sick of Doluna’s oppression, or a prisoner freed, those with obvious common ground – former enemy soldiers under close supervision wouldn’t be a very popular sight in front of the merry bonfire.

Minerva sensed Hardin had to be behind this order. Marth would ignore any such qualms. She wasn’t sure if this relieved her, or if it was yet another thorn prickling at her side. The further toward the northwest area she walked, the emptier the rows became. She could hear the crackle of the northwestern campfire from six rows away, and hear Catria mumble something in response to one of Est’s puns, and Est giving her indignant response.

“Hey sis, it’s not _my_ fault you’re— Oh! Wait.” Est’s face peeked out from the corner of one of the red tents, her grin wide as she met Minerva’s eyes. “ _Wooh_ , Commander sighted! Thought I heard someone!”

Minerva gave her a small wave, and she tried her best to smile and keep smiling, as she rounded the tent and joined the little fire.

Her first impression was the air of calm. Catria had taken her guard duty sternly and seriously when Minerva saw her last, but now she leaned back against a log, polishing the tip of her spear. Est leaned on an elbow – still grinning – while the ones under their supervision let themselves be prodded by Lena.

The three new knights stuck out like sore thumbs as they huddled around the flames. The light gleamed on their Macedonan attire, like malicious taunts, completely out of place on the bruised and empty faces of its wearers.

They sat on a neat row, their backs straight in stark contrast to the relaxed stances of their guards on either side. Lena crouched before one of them, poking at her gauntlet-free hand. Julian – perfectly healthy, just as Minerva had remembered – stood on his toes, ready to hand her whatever salve or herb she asked for.

“I tell you, Maria needs to take a look at this”, Minerva overheard the cleric huff. “Julian, anti-inflammatory drops, please – the see-through one – thank you, dearest. Just you wait, Dame Palla, I’ll see to your shoulder soon.”

Palla still had bruises on her face, and her bare right arm rested in her lap beneath a dented pauldron, but she smiled. “There’s no need to stress yourself, sister Lena. I’m doing perfectly fine.”

Minerva slid down to join them as casually as she could – but that was difficult, given the turncoats’ eyes all stuck to her in awe – brushing Palla’s left arm.

 “Princess Minerva, could you assist me in carrying this lady to the healing tent?” Lena voice was a bit harsh, which sounded all kinds of wrong coming from her. Minerva decided not to dwell on it. This battle had likely thrown Lena’s heart into disarray as well. “She refuses to move, saying she didn’t want to impose on you.”

The turncoat in the middle – Ylina, Minerva vaguely remembered her being called – opened her mouth as to speak, but then changed her mind.

“Yeesh”, Catria sighed, leaned back from polishing her lance. “You guys really aren’t fun company at _all_. We’ve been telling you, Commander don’t care about fancy manners ‘n such. You got something to say, say it.”

The three turncoats all turned their eyes on Catria, looking completely horrified. Minerva grabbed a cup of water from a jug next to her, a careful eye on the turncoats and Lena.

“I do appreciate privacy”, she tried to nod as politely as she could to the three turncoats. “But Catria’s right, there’s no need to be _that_ formal. Really, I sleep in the dirt just like the rest of you. No need to go out of your way and risk your health. This camp has a place for everyone.”

Lena crossed her arms, and gave Minerva a grateful look, but the three newcomers only stared at her. Minerva wasn’t sure they’d actually heard what she said. She didn’t regret trusting them to join her side, but she did sort of regret sitting down to speak with them so soon. Her head still buzzed and throbbed, sending her flashes of her people raining from the sky, combining with Maria sobbing against her collar.

“Then I’m not leaving yet”, Ylina said – very quickly, as if she spoke before she could regret it. “Thank you, sister Lena, but I’ll wait a while longer. It wouldn’t be polite to— I do not want to— I couldn’t leave so rudely with Her Majesty— Uhm—“

“If you say so”, Lena sighed. “Then keep your hand still, dear. And go to the healer’s tent as soon as you can.”

Ylina was about to give her a little wave, then winced as she lifted her hand and only nodded instead. Lena moved on to sit beside Palla, her palm prodding Palla’s upper arm. Palla grimaced slightly, and Minerva carefully put her fingers to the back of her hand.

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she drank her water. Her movements felt awkward, like her mind was still tuned to swinging her axe, so half of it splashed into her face. She tasted dirt. _Metallic_ dirt.

“So, _Queen’s Guard_ , was it?” Minerva said, trying to fight back a wave of nausea. Her hand cramped around the cup of water, and she hoped no one noticed it. “Please, tell me your names, and your reasons for being here.”

At first, there was nothing more than a few nervous glances, and Julian leaning his head as if pretending not to listen. Then the boy Minerva still thought of as ‘ _lieutenant’_ spoke.

“I am Rivan Silrik”, he said. “I have been a part of the Macedonan invasion force for a third of my lifetime, and rather recently I was a part of your party that set after a group of deserters in Aurelis.”

Minerva most certainly remembered that. Some memories turned to hazes, others were too cruel to leave her.

“I am Ylina”, the woman beside Rivan continued. “I was not with you in taking down deserters, but I too was a part of your invasion force. When the leadership, uh, changed, me and Derne— uhm— became a part of Khozen’s army. Our squad meant to flank the League at Knorda, in Archanea.” Her eyes darted up to Minerva’s face for a short second. A gaze that was somehow both brave and anxious.

Lena looked up from Palla’s side. “That’s not possible. I combed through that battlefield myself – there were no survivors at Knorda, besides those we recruited.”

“Nah, it’s true”, the third turncoat responded. ”I was there too. We left before the battle begun. Or rather, _this_ one did.” He poked a finger into Rivan’s arm. “We just followed our capt’n. He saw ol’ First General on her wyvern, and bolted. Scared beyond his wits.”

“Derne, please”, Rivan said, without trying to deflect the finger into his arm. “That’s irrelevant. Fear didn’t push me to desertion, I was just...” The boy looked down on his hands, and when he did, he didn’t look that much older than Maria. “When I saw you in the sky, your majesty, I saw hope for Macedon. And I would never fight that hope.”

“That’s nice”, was all Minerva could think of saying, too overwhelmed to grasp her own thoughts. “Though please stop the _majesty_ -business. I am no queen, and it is starting to bother me that you think of me as such.”

“You are one to us”, Ylina countered, then stopped herself short, pointed vaguely at herself. “No one back home would call me a _fighter_ , I was being taught how to copy books and chart family trees when the King’s order came. They took my quills, and I had to accept my fate as a soldier – under a King I hated, besides.” She glanced on her companions, and the one named Derne shrugged.

“Every soldier has a story like that”, he said. “Ylina is at least good at this fighting business, and I’m definitely not. Was just a farmer’s lad before this whole mess. That didn’t matter to the king though, and, well. We figured you’d be the same.”

“That was the point”, Minerva answered, feeling Palla’s fingers clasp harder around her hand. “Have you three been, ah, informed of... _That_ whole predicament?”

“I told ‘em its and pieces”, Catria answered, poking the butt of her lance loosely against Derne’s foot. “This guy kept interrupting about details of how he’d punch the king, and Est kept being Est.”

“Hey! You were telling it so _boring_ , it’s a story that needs _spice_!”

“I thought it wassa very spicy story, Firefly”, Julian said, looking up from raking around in the medicine bag.

Est waved pointedly at him. “See? A man of taste.”

Catria only rolled her eyes, and Ylina cleared her throat.

“Yes, well, I think we all shared Derne’s sentiment”, she said with a look on Rivan beside her. “And I think I speak for everyone too when I say that we are relieved. I for one never imagined to find a descendant of Iote with the _rebels_. Though the moment you opposed the king, you became our queen. Hence... our name.” Minerva could feel Lena’s eyes glancing up at her, a fire within them, as if she agreed. Ylina must have noticed too – she quieted and began fidgeting with the edge of her chainmail. “But if that bothers you, then of course we shouldn’t— Uhm—“

She was retreating back into awkwardness, something Minerva sincerely wanted to avoid.

“Why did you not join up with the League at Knorda?” she asked quickly. “We could have used your help.”

 “It was my call to turn and run”, Rivan answered unsurely. “At the moment, it felt like the right thing to do. We were unknown, presumed dead and practically... invisible. We could help from the sidelines, where no Dolunan expected to look. The first thing we did was to try and rouse villagers to our cause; when the League was laying siege to the Archanean palace, we tried to intercept the force riding to Doluna’s aid. We didn’t take them all out, but we hoped it was devastating, all the same.”

Those memories were definitely a haze to Minerva, but she did remember her rear guard taking on the former Talys invasion force as they were already tousled and bruised, and fewer than expected.

“Come ooon”, Est said brightly, leaning forward. “You aren’t telling her the best part! Tell her about the _fire_ -thing!”

Est shone with excitement, like a child withholding a secret. Battles really didn’t last long to her, not even battles like this. What Minerva wouldn’t give to be the same.

“The... Burning towers, in Grust?” she guessed, and could immediately see the answer in their faces. “Mind you, that helped us plenty.”

The light in the three soldier’s eyes dulled. “It’s a relief to hear that. My friend couldn’t escape with us when he set his, but he’d be glad to know it wasn’t in vain.”

“I’m sorry for your loss”, Minerva said. She tried to have her exhausted face and tongue show that she meant that, though she still hardly believed what she heard and saw.

Before her sat the only proof that the Macedon of her youth had been real, and that it was... _wanted_. Enough for a complete stranger to die for it. Minerva wasn’t fighting for nothing, it was not just an empty wish for justice to be made.

Lena’s gaze burned on Minerva, even though she wasn’t looking directly at her. It felt to Minerva like a hint at ‘ _I told you so_ ’, but she still couldn’t really believe it. When a handful of people were the only concrete proof she had that her vision was shared, what did that mean? Hundreds of Macedonans had died that day for what _they_ believed in.

She closed her eyes, forced any such thoughts aside.

“Well, Queen’s Guard”, she said. “I am truly glad to have you with me. I won’t keep you here. Catria, Est, no need to guard them anymore.” She looked right at Ylina, who was the only one who dared look back at her – even though her gaze shivered. “I take responsibility for your freedom. You may go as you will around camp, but do be gentle around your fellow rebels. Getting rid of Michalis’ crest would be wise; even we fly the Archanean colors on our mounts. It is of special importance now, considering our enemy.”

Rivan bowed his head, and the other two immediately imitated him. “Thank you, your highness. In that case, please excuse us. We will attend to that immediately.”

“And we aren’t keeping Ylina out of the healing tent any longer, either!” Derne filled in, and got a slight grimace from Ylina.

Then, all three of them stood in unison, and the two of them without instruction not to move their hands saluted her just as beautifully as before. Minerva was too tired to stand with them, and was tempted to merely let them leave. For all their bent down heads and polite words, they still exhausted her.

But there was one thing she wanted out of the way first.

“One moment, please”, she said, her eyes on Rivan. The one she recognized as her lieutenant, and also as someone bleeding out on the carpet of a royal castle beneath her own axe. One image among a thousand others, still burning in her mind.

Before they devoted themselves to her any further, did they not deserve the truth? Should he not know that the family he searched for was gone?

“Your brother...” Minerva began, then became silent. Her new ally looked at her with a slight smile, so much respect on his face, in his stance—

She bit her tongue, feeling every eye around her dig into her – Catria’s with wide desperation, and Palla’s with pain. She thought of the words she could say, but none of them made it through.

This was someone loyal. Someone sharing her cause. And she was a coward. A coward that didn’t dare lose something so valuable in a time of need.

“Have you found him, yet?” she finished her sentence.

Rivan’s smile died away a little, but still remained as he shook his head. “I’m surprised you remember, your maj— ah, _General –_ highness! But I haven’t crossed path with him yet. I only hope that wherever he is, he’s happy.”

Tears blurred her visison. She blinked them away. _Death and all it’s damnation upon me_.

“I hope so, too.”  



	77. The Mind of an Enemy

Scout Captain Gundre of the Triatun mountains usually saw nothing but darkness through his window at night. His outpost overlooked the entire valley below him, where forests stretched far and wide, shrouding the world with the night the gods intended.

This night was different. He could see a light by the seashore. Because now, a thousand invaders rested on the plains outside the harbor.

Gundre’s hands shook at the prospect. He tried to make them stop. Macedonan soldiers didn’t show such weakness, no matter if anyone saw them or not.

He had no reason to fear. No reason.

They’d been given their orders beforehand, and he’d executed them as he should. One mounted rider had left their outpost as soon as the ungodly noise from battle far below had ceased. One mounted rider to carry the news of defeat.

As if defeat wasn’t humiliating enough, Gundre and his men soon spotted a campsite appear almost right on top of the fresh corpses. Brave defenders, cast aside like trash.

His Majesty was right. The Leauge came here with cruel chaos. They came with the princess, a traitor to blood and land, who led Macedon’s enemy from the side of an Altean.

Gundre clenched his jaw and his hands, his fear replaced by anger. But he still couldn’t stop his shivering. It was the cold, he suspected, and drew his cloak tighter around him.

All he could do was wait. The horns lay ready on his desk – one shrill and one deep. One to call for nationwide attack, another for retreat.

He dried his palms on his tunic, his eyes drawn to the floorboards below him. Fear showed its face again for the whisper of a moment, but he shook it off again.

No matter the king’s final order on what horn he had to sound, his sons would still be here, safe and sound. The invaders had no reason to go all the way to a mountain outpost, none at all. His family was safe from the enemy blades.

He shouldn’t have let that thought pass his mind, because the gods were fickle and loved to play their tricks. Just as the concept of _safety_ crossed his mind, he spotted a commotion at the base of the watchtower. The torches of his men assembled by the outpost entrance, then moved along the rows of cottages, four loud strangers forced to come with them.

Scout Captain Gundre knew his responsibilities. He was not to get involved, only to observe - unless a situation outright _demanded_ him to act. If he had to come to any sort of conclusion, he’d always have to choose the most careful option. He was a very careful man, so that suited him fine.

Well, this situation surely called for him to get involved – distant outposts hardly got _visitors_.

He descended the stairs, past the door to his own sleeping quarters. He stopped to peek inside, as discreetly as he could to not make a sound.

His sons were asleep in the bed by the furtherest wall, little Grus with his blanket in his mouth and his brother’s arm wrapped protectively over his shoulders. Gundre breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe, and so they would remain.

He closed the door. Time to do his job. But this time… He locked the door before he left. Just to be sure.

The strangers had been led inside to the base of the tower, and were held tightly by the arms. They didn’t struggle, instead they stood proud with their Macedonan crests gleaming in the torchlight.

“Captain”, the four of them said.

“We caught them trying to get in”, one of Gundre’s men explained, earning him frowns from the strangers.

“We have information that needs to be sent to the king”, the same intruder said. “The First General is dead, the Archanean League has taken the harbor.”

Captain Gundre gave him a cold glance. “What makes you think we do not know this? A messenger is already on its way to His Majesty.”

“We can provide information on their numbers, their leaders!” Another one of the strangers was speaking up, now. “Please, we want to help.”

“I think we skipped over the detail where you tell me who you _are_ ”, Gundre said, his hand resting on his sword’s hilt.

They listed their names and ranks, one after the other. Common soldiers, under the leadership of First General Orridyon. Present during the battle by the harbor.

“Survivors”, Gundre concluded with skepticism. “Did the First General order a retreat, then? And only four soldiers would return to nearest outpost to report – in the middle of the night, no less?”

“You can hardly fault us for wanting to relay information as quickly as we could”, the stranger who’d introduced himself as Lesan said. “And to get as far away from those—“

“I will fault you for whatever is appropriate”, Gundre interrupted him. “Because four soldiers ran from their posts, while their superior fought alone.”

“The general had already fallen”, Lesran answered. “We were cornered and about to meet our end, when the Princess Minerva intervened. She tried to talk us to her side, with no ounce of shame. Something no self-respecting Macedonan would agree to. So we came here to report, instead.”

Laughter got stuck in Gundre’s throat, his voice turning hoarse. “And you mean to tell me that you refused her, and then the army – the same one that had you _cornered_ – let you run?”

The strangers’ gazes met in silence, two of them with brows arched in worry. “Yes, Captain”, Lesran finally answered.

“So what you’re saying is that the Crimson Dragoon… A monster so hungry for blood she turned on her own kingdom… _Spared_ you.” Gundre clenched his fists over his sword’s pommel. “I’ve heard better tales from my children.”

The strangers’ worry turned to fear. Gundre must have hit home, exposed them for what they were.

“Here’s what I think”, Gundre continued calmly. “You are deserters, at best. At worst, you are lying spies for the enemy, dressing up in the armor of our dead, thinking we’d fall for any shallow excuse.”

“We’re neither of those things, Captain—“

“Silence!”

Gundre’s roar had them rear back against the arms that held them. His suspicions strengthened at the sight.

He knew what needed to be done. He had his orders. Stay at this outpost. Report only the facts. Desertion meant death. Spies… Were like any enemy. They had to die, too. _Always choose the most careful option_.

“Imprison us then”, another one of the spies bristled. “And we’ll prove to you that we speak truth.”

Gundre hesitated. That was one option, surely. But the mere thought of introducing unfamiliar, possibly dangerous, soldiers onto his home grounds… As a captain, he could risk some things for the greater good – a spy could be valuable alive, _interrogated_. But as a father… Some risks simply weren’t worth taking.

“I will _not_ ”, Gundre said. “We both know what the king would want for me to do with you.”

The strangers’ eyes grew wide, and when Gundre gave a nod to his own soldiers, the spies kicked and screamed against their restraints. Gundre only backed away, dodging a boot aimed for him.

The spies were unarmed, exhausted. Easily pulled out through the door. Gundre slammed it close without looking twice.

He’d done the right thing. Both to Macedon and his sons. That made the screams of struggle easier to ignore, and he ascended the spiral stairs to return to his guardstation. Checking in on his sons, once again, just to be sure they hadn’t awakened by the noise. They were both as still as before, stirring only a little when he nudged the door open. _They would be safe_. He’d never stop making sure of it.

 

Back at his station at the top of the tower, he placed his hands on the windowsill where the two horns rested.

One for attack, and one for retreat.

He suspected the sound would spread from the capital the following afternoon, but until then, he kept his watchful eye on the light by the horizon.


	78. Unwanted Welcomes

Minerva’s chin bled as she ventured through the small streets of Triatun harbor, but she did not stop to wipe her face. Her hand was kept in the signal for ‘ _hold_ ’, directed at the four sky knights circling above her.

For how long they would obey that order, Minerva didn’t know.

Something hit her in the back of her armor, bounced off with a harsh _clang_. Another _something_ swished by her face, and landed on the cobblestones with a splat. A pale mass of fish guts, by the looks of things.

She clenched her jaws, kept her hand in place.

 _‘Only steep down if there’s any danger_ ’, Minerva had said to her Whitewings and Caeda. ‘ _I don’t want the townspeople to feel any more threatened than they already do. Keep an eye out for my signal at all times_.’

She threw a glance to the sky. Palla was the closest to the ground, her Pegasus’ hooves almost hitting the rooftops. So close, Minerva could see her face burning, like she was moments away from plunging down at the cluster of people and their harassment from foul-smelling projectiles and rocks.

Minerva would do best to leave this harbor as soon as possible. A mob could turn violent at a moment’s notice, and she didn’t want to raise a hand against more of her people than necessary. But she wouldn’t give up. This, she did for Maria. _For Maria._

“Peace”, she called out over the harbor. A plea, met by faces twisted in fear, confusion and anger.

She’d been here once before. When the streets flourished with open doors and colorful banners, her father’s crown glinting as he greeted the fishing families that had come out to gawk at their king. It was a long time ago, but Minerva could still see the likeness – or rather the _discord –_ of the place.

Now, all doors were slammed shut. The streets were orderly and empty from merchant wares and colored flags; the only banner that fluttered in the wind was Michalis own red, banners that lined the streets on wooden poles. An excessive reminder of his presence and power.

“Peace”, Minerva called again. “We wish you no harm, and we will take nothing from you. I am your princess Minerva, and all I wish is to give those who fought their well-deserved rest! We would simply like to take the bodies out of the water—”

The fish guts hit her, this time. It splattered against her plackart.

“Leave!” A woman cried at her, and the angry glares from the people lining the streets turned braver. “Leave or I’ll—“

Someone pushed into the woman, calling her mad for taunting a princess, then two more rocks were hurled at Minerva’s feet.

Minerva kept walking. Her eyes on the Whitewings and Caeda, her hand raised in the same signal. ‘ _Hold_ ’.

She reached the docks. Those who crowded it parted for her to pass; some of them willingly, though some were dragged away by their companions. Minerva didn’t care which as long as she could progress without hurting anyone.

It would have been easier if she could fly down to the docks herself, but she still didn’t have a saddle and Maria forbade her to repeat her former stunt. Lena hadn’t given Mienrva any leeway either, she had argued that it was for the best that Minerva walked on her own two feet. If Minerva didn’t wish to intimidate, it was better that she entered town on the common folk’s level.

Which was probably true, and so far it had gone better than she expected. Still, she couldn’t wait to leave. Pebbles couldn’t pierce her armor, yet they still hit her heart.

She reached the end of the docks.

The waves clucked against the League’s many small boats, pushed unseeing, bloated bodies into their hulls. Voices rippled from under the planks beneath Minerva’s feet, and she looked down.

Three young adults, very much alive, were already in the water, hoisting the bodies over their heads in an effort to put them up on the docks. Where four successfully lifted bodies already lay, unnaturally sprawled over the planks.

One of the three boys trod water, panting with effort as he tried to lift a body twice as big as himself. Minerva reached down to help him.

“Don’t touch them”, another boy snarled, but the one with the body gratefully let Minerva pull the body up into her arms.

“Lay off it, Hjalmar”, the boy said as he let go.

“ _You_ lay off”, the former answered him. “These brave soldiers don’t deserve to be handled by traitors and murderers.” He grabbed the collar of another body, and pulled it up himself. “They should be buried by those who really care! That’s _us_ , Luka! Their _own_!”

Minerva put the body down with the others, her clothing beneath her armor feeling sour already. Hooves clattered against the wood of the docks, and Minerva looked up.

“Hate to break it to you”, Catria said as she dismounted. “But we care a bunch more than your king does. Just let us do what’s right, yeah?”

Her sisters joined her, bent down into the water themselves. Minerva’s confusion at their appearance passed only a moment later; she _had_ let go of her signal, after all. While there was no danger, she didn’t mind the company. She instantly felt less like a target for fishing waste and more like she knew what she was doing.

_For Maria. For Maria._

Catria reached down to the body the non-sympathetic boy held onto, since he struggled with it.

“Go away”, the boy snarled back, kept the body in the water so that Catria could not reach.

Minerva glanced toward the street. Caeda had formed a defensive line all by herself on the tiny dock, kept the townspeople back. No more fish-guts reached Minerva, but one or two shouts did.

Her people melted together when she watched them. She couldn’t possibly separate the anger directed at her from the yells directed at a fellow townsperson, but... Not everyone wanted her gone, it seemed. Some stared at her with sad, confused eyes, others with sparks of hope and admiration – but the ones with hatred were the ones she truly noticed.

She wouldn’t disappoint them for too long. She’d be gone soon enough.

She plucked two of the dead from the docks and carried them to Caeda, put them over her Pegasus’ front. The animal snorted in disgust, but did not rear away, and Caeda simply gave her a nod.

Minerva walked on back to pick up the next, one that the third – and quiet one – of the boys had managed to get up on the dock.

“These are the ones that the currents brought back”, the third one said tonelessly. “There must be three times as many still missing. The Wyvern knights have probably sunken down, with all their armor.”

Minerva only nodded at him. “We work with what we’ve got. Thank you.”

“Really”, the one named Hjalmar said, splashing water at his companions. “If you two don’t cut this out we’re gonna have a problem.”

Catria ignored him. She fished up another body, and Palla loaded the rest on her Pegasus, while Est carried two over her shoulders.

“If _you_ don’t shut up, we’re gonna have an even bigger problem”, the boy named Luka spat back. “My mother didn’t die in Archanea for you to—“ Another splash of water got in his mouth, interrupting him.

“Just shut up”, Hjalmar hissed at him. “My _sister_ didn’t die in Aurelis for _you_ to kiss the boots of those that only see you like you’re dirt, all right?”

The third boy only sighed, and dragged the last body to Minerva’s outstretched hands despite Hjalmar holding on to it.

“Yeah, you just keep believing in their supposed _charity_ ”, he cried as he had to give up on his grip. He clearly didn’t want to give up getting his point across as easily. “It’s all just a ruse to make you believe that they have a shred of decency, but they don’t! _They don’t have hearts_.”

“Sheesh”, Catria mumbled under her breath as the last body was put on one of the pegasi. “What a loudmouth.”

“Yeah”, Minerva whispered back, her insides trembling with anger and grief, the words an echo in her head. “What a loudmouth.”

\---

Not many people came to the burial, despite Maria spreading the word around camp.

Minerva listed excuses on their behalf – it was still early in the morning, some people were busy, some had to stand guard – but Maria was as still as a statue.

“I know they don’t really care”, she muttered, and after that, Minerva stopped trying.

In truth, Minerva didn’t mind the lack of people. They may be just a handful of people out in the corner of the cleared battlefield, but they were people who cared.  Minerva stood with her arms over Maria’s shoulders, the Whitewings at her side and Marth right in front of her with his cloak rustling in the wind. And with him came Caeda and their closest friends, Abel with his arm on Est’s, Cain crouching beside Maria to match her height. Even Ogma stood at the edge of the gathering.

Lena made quick work of the procedure. The other mages had offered to help her, but she’d declined. She stood alone as the Macedonans burned, then let what remained sink into the ground at her command. The only trace left of them was the boulder Draug hoisted over his shoulders and set down in the middle of the no-longer bloodstained grass.

Minerva had promised Maria that they’d return here one day and give the boulder a proper inscription. Although how exactly she’d do that, Minerva wasn’t sure. ‘ _Here lies the brave enemies to a free Macedon’_ definitely wasn’t right, and ‘ _Here rests the brave but unfortunate knights who kept their faith even in death’_ seemed unfairly praising. How could she possibly honor her enemies without coloring it in absolutes? ‘ _Here lie Macedonans who fought bravely in defeat’_ was the best she could think of. But there was still a part of her that didn’t _want_ them to be forgiven and remembered. They were the ones who’d thrived with her brother’s throne, or who were foolish enough to believe they had.

Marth turned his head, and met Minerva’s gaze. His face flushed and his eyes gleaming from holding back tears she didn’t doubt were genuine. “I’m sorry”, he said.

“Thank you”, she answered, unsure if that was the right thing to say. All of this felt _off_ , somehow. Like their sorrow was nothing but the tears of hypocrites. _Those without hearts_.

Maria hugged her tighter, then she let go. She muttered something to Cain, and he nodded and offered a hand. Just as something brushed against Minerva’s.

She turned her head to her right. Palla’s face was blank, but her gaze shivered ever so slightly. ‘ _I grieve’_ , she’d told Minerva the night before, ‘ _but I do not regret’_.

Minerva had claimed to feel the same, and she still did, although… With her exhausted mind, it was difficult to uphold the strength required for it. They’d been awake for all but three hours, yet Minerva wanted nothing more but to crawl into her tent, slip back into sleep to the rhythm of Palla’s steady breaths.

She didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to act.

The little gathering had dissolved into smaller groups, Lena speaking to Linde, Marth and Caeda, Maria examining a bruise on Draug’s cheek from carrying the boulder, Est dragging Abel back to camp… All of it a sort of relief, yet also the horrible notion that they had to move on, start the preparations for a new march.

 _I don’t want to_ , a little child within her mind cried.

Palla brushed her chin and that sent the cold sensation of damp cheeks against Minerva’s skin. Was she crying? Since when?

“None of the blame is yours”, Palla whispered. Minerva caught her hand, shut her eyes and kissed her fingers. ”We’re here to set the world to rights.”

“I know”, Minerva whispered back. “I know.”

She couldn’t stop, or the weights of guilt would crush her entirely. She’d keep walking, and the tear-streaked faces and hurled rocks might not catch up with her just yet. She cleared her throat and opened her eyes to meet Palla’s gaze.

“Did you find any willing leatherworkers?” she asked, and to her relief, she saw a small smile pull at Palla’s lips.

“Just one”, she answered. “And not an expert on the matter, obviously. Those are all with your brother, I imagine.”

Minerva’s fingers ached, and she stretched them. The first thing she’d done once returned from the harbor had been to remove the saddles of every available wyvern on the ground, while her Whitewings assembled as many of the Macedonans they could find into the resting place Maria had decided upon. Minerva had saved the saddles that looked to be around the same size as Titania, and they were all lying in a heap at the edge of camp.

“Not an expert is still better than nothing”, she said, and Palla laughed darkly.

“Indeed it is. You shouldn’t delay, my dear. If I have to witness you flying bareback again, I fear I will not survive it.”

\---  


The stable grounds were free of all crowds, and the only sounds apart from the more distant campsite were that of quiet grazing. Titania lay sprawled on the ground, the tip of her tail twitching sleepily. As Minerva walked up to her, she angled her chin and her eye shot open and then narrowed when her gaze landed on the woman beside Minerva.

“It’ll be just like a horse, eh?” The blacksmith was young for her trade, but Minerva held no doubt that she was a master, still. Her hands had layers and calluses, her cheeks stained by soot that probably never washed off, and her build like she’d done nothing but swing a heavy hammer since birth.

“Definitely not”, Minerva answered her question. “Who’s said that?”

The blacksmith shrugged her vast shoulders. “I hoped. I work with horses. I get along well with horses. This? Unfamiliar. I have my pride as a blacksmith and leatherworker, but this could be bad for the results. Worst case, you fall off and die. Because of me.”

Titania’s eyes narrowed even further, and she clicked her tongue in annoyance as the blacksmith spoke. It wasn’t uncommon for her to glare at strangers after a battle, but she wouldn’t usually click at them. Maybe the harness in Minerva’s arms was part of the reason. Wild wyverns shunned saddles more than they feared death, but tame wyverns were a thousand years of selective breeding apart from their wild cousins, and their scales were adapted to fit a saddle without discomfort. Even so, Titania might not exactly look forward to being saddled so soon.

Minerva crouched in front of her and Titania tilted her head at her, sniffing the saddle with another click of her tongue. Then she let out a low rumble from the center of her chest.

“Don’t be rude”, Minerva muttered at her, before she looked up at the blacksmith again. “Do your best, and the result will still be better than anything I could do. Or anyone else. I’m... grateful you were willing to take on this challenge.”

“Eh”, the woman scoffed. “Someone had to.” She gestured vaguely toward Titania. “Point me at where you want me, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Minerva nodded and looked back on Titania. Red eyes, sharp as daggers, looked right back at her. “I’ll put the saddle on her back”, Minerva told the blacksmith, without yielding to Titania’s gaze. “That is arguably the dangerous part. Be ready to jump, in case she gets annoyed with you. She won’t hurt me, but she might bite a stranger.”

The blacksmith didn’t grow pale at all, she only shrugged again. “Ever been bitten by a horse, your highness?”

Minerva had to admit that she hadn’t – pegasi were too docile to bite their providers, and she usually wasn’t very close to non-aerial horses.

“They’re nasty, horse bites. I’m not afraid, just because this one has more of teeth to bite with.”

“In that case, you two will probably get along well.” Minerva got close enough to Titania to put the saddle on her back – apart from snorting and putting her head back down on the ground, Titania didn’t protest. But when the blacksmith crouched beside her and tugged at the straps, she was once again giving dark glares.

Minerva sat down, hiding most of the blacksmith from Titania's sight. Her arms crossed. “Are you gonna be this grumpy when we march, too?”

Titania blinked at her, then put her head on Minerva’s lap with a sigh. And the world was a little bit brighter for it. Minerva could for the flash of a moment forget about loud mobs and burning corpses as she stroked the scales.

“Yeah?” she said with the slightest of smiles. “Yeah, I’m sorry. You have a right to be tired. You deserve some peace and quiet." 

The blacksmith cursed behind her, the sound of metal hitting the ground reaching her. Titania's lip twitched as a show of her teeth, and Minerva kept talking as quickly as she could. "Hey, Titania, speaking of rest - as soon as we’re done with the harness, I think I just might spoil you with another half of a sheep. What would you say to that?”

Titania moved her head to look at her – she knew the word _sheep_ , or at least she paid extra attention whenever she heard it. The blacksmith kept whisking the straps around, marking which pieces were too short or too thin, and apart from a final glare, Titania really didn’t seem to care.

She nudged her head into a comfortable position, then closed her eyes with another sigh. _Good call_ , Minerva thought and kept stroking the scales. Michalis wouldn't let them have many other opportunities for idleness. _Better to rest while it lasts_.


	79. No Words to Speak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a day late because life happened, the plan was to release all three of these together but that's just how things be sometimes. Hope you can enjoy this regardless! :)

The last wagon had been set on the uneven ridges of the old dirt road leading north. Everything the League needed to prepare before a march was done, and the spirits were high.

Until the very sky vibrated with a deep, earthly hum.

 

Minerva stood with one gauntlet between her teeth, tying the final bag to Titania’s new saddle, and if she didn’t know better she’d have thought it was one of Titania’s growls. It was far too powerful a sound to come from just one source – Minerva’s teeth clattered against the gauntlet, and her heart seemed to slow.

She slipped the gauntlet on in the same motion as she pulled herself up onto Titania’s back. And the sound grew, crawling from the north and down toward them, an indistinguishable noise from beneath and above.

Titania stretched her neck and let out a rumble of her own in answer. Minerva didn’t let her eyes off the horizon.

“ _Siren_!” Est had to shout, even though she was almost right beside Minerva. “Commander, you know what it says?”

Minerva squinted at the horizon and shook her head. This was a message system as ancient as Macedon itself. The mountains carried the sounds, reached another horn-bearer, and spread. Like Est, Minerva knew _what_ this was, but not what it _meant_.

She’d heard it once before, a hazy memory separated by years of noise and battle cries and drums – Michalis’ call to arms blaring out over the mountains just as Minerva’s new troops marched to Doluna. The official declaration of war.

She was certain this message said something _else_ , but she could not figure out what. She’d learned the language of these sounds once, but knowing Michalis, he’d distort every link she could use to read his actions.

The entire League had stopped at the sound, with people throwing anxious looks and horses tearing at their reins. Minerva spared a look away from the horizon, and as she did the forceful vibrations through the air ended. All that remained was the echo between mountain walls and the ringing in her head.

Palla had her sword drawn, her face etched in stone. “Caeda’s incoming”, she said, but it didn’t seem like she looked away from the horizon for a moment. So Palla expected the worst, too.

Caeda swept down in front of them, with Marth holding a secure grip around her waist. When Caeda’s Pegasus stilled, he slid down, his eyes wide and locked on Minerva.

“Minerva, what—?” His eyes grew wider as they lingered on Palla’s drawn sword. “Should we drop everything and prepare for combat?”

The horns still hummed inside Minerva’s skull as she scanned the mountains for any dangers. She should answer yes. A messenger could very likely have gotten all the way to the capital by now, bearing news of failed defenses. And the need for a new offense.

She could be completely wrong, still.

In her hesitation, Minerva didn’t have the opportunity to answer before Hardin’s whole squad of paladins closed in from beside them. The rescued Macedonans were with them every step, enclosed in the middle of the guarding circle.

“Sire”, Hardin greeted Marth, giving Minerva and Caeda one dip of his brow. “I noticed you stopping by our middle rows in all haste, and thought I could join you.” Hardin held Gradvius gracefully over one shoulder, and with his free hand, he gestured to the squad of Macedonans behind him. “I bring news from our honored prisoners that could be of interest to us all. But I’m sure the princess Minerva has already provided answers to this new... noisy issue.”

Minerva felt a flush spread over her throat beneath her armored collar. She couldn’t let go of the notion that she _should_ know this, all reasons for the opposite be damned.

 “I have not”, she answered. “Please share.”

Hardin didn’t show any surprise at her words, merely gestured once again behind him and stepped ever so slightly out of the way. The prisoners were unarmed, but Minerva was still prepared to hurl Hauteclere free from over her back, and Palla had not lowered her sword.

“Your Highness”, the former captain Rucke nodded at her, a hand sitting properly over his chest. Minerva barely recognized him – he and his men been granted spare cloaks to cover their Macedonan colors, and it looked awkward on everyone but Rucke. He looked perfectly at home in Archanean blue.

“Captain”, she returned his greeting. “Are you familiar with this... unconventional message?”

His smile wasn’t wide, but she could tell he was beaming with pride, still. “It was a call to the entire defensive force”, he answered her. “His Majesty was always quite concerned with keeping communications with his forces on home grounds. With all due respect, it’s no wonder invasion force soldiers such as yourself don’t know it. Pleased to be of service, of course. It's the first time I'm hearing it, but I know it well enough. This is a call for retreat.”

\---

It wasn’t so much a council as it was a mess of barely audible suggestions, surrounded by restless horses and questioning looks rather than tent walls. Despite that, the decision to keep moving was quickly made, _too_ quickly for Minerva’s tastes. Although this was hardly the first time they acted without knowing even half of what was going on – it shouldn’t bother her so, but here _everything_ bothered her. Fear and sorrow still clawed at her feet like vines, and threatened to root her in place. Vines that thrived more than ever on Macedonan soil.

_Retreat._

Minerva’s mind scraped at every possible meaning by the word. Michalis could be calling his troops back to a common fortress, or to the capital, or to an assault position. Rucke’s word might not be worth much to Minerva, but the empty sky remained, and that spoke for itself.

Minerva’s best guess, that she’d shared with the council on the spot, was that Michalis would await them at the Gimon pass. That was Macedon’s second gods-designed gate, marking the end of Triatun Valley and the entrance to the vast central flatlands. With the League compressed between high grounds, Michalis had the undoubted advantage. An assault strategy before then was risky, and unnecessary.

 

Even so, Minerva didn’t waste many hours down on the ground as they marched. It would be better for her and Titania to conserve their strengths, but Minerva could hardly rest unless at least three of the sky knights were active in the sky.

Minerva scouted the north whenever she had the chance. In doing so, she’d keep the others away from the most obvious threat. Still, each time they branched out, Minerva’s chest was a painful void. Palla soared to the east, and Minerva was certain that was the last time she saw her. Catria took to the west, and Minerva just knew an arrow would come out of nowhere and send her to her death. Est went to the south and was gone for just a bit too long—

Yet two days passed, and there was nothing. Nothing but shapes of wyverns at the horizon, flying north without looking back. Nothing but lopsided wagons pushed and pulled by refugees by the hundreds, moving up into the mountains or south toward the bigger towns. Nothing but empty villages along the road, with Michalis’ banners as the only sign of life.

Not even the fortresses had anyone tending to them, much less defending them. Marth ordered each and every one of the fortresses to be stormed, and each and every time, nothing lay in wait except the glaring crest of Iote embroidered on banners and carved above doors. 

And the further north they moved, the more unrest grew within Minerva. The emptiness below was often interrupted by the movement of refugees or bandits – and the only way to differentiate them was when one was attacking and one was the victim. Minerva only witnessed that once, and she didn’t hesitate then. She plunged, the blood on her axe the only solace for her inner turmoil, but on the other hand, seeing the eyes of the refugees she defended only worsened the mayhem inside her.

They stared back at her with fear and not much else, though the question ‘ _why?’_ was mirrored in every gaze she met.

Why invaders would strike so cruelly. Why Michalis would leave them like this, with not so much as a guard to guide them. Michalis must know Minerva would never let any harm come to the bystanders among her people, and if he truly cared for them, he’d lay down arms instead of protecting his crown.

Then again, without the invasion, there wouldn’t be any need to protect it.

 _Why._ In front of tattered people, holding on tightly to whatever granted them some sense of normalcy and security, she could no longer answer that question convincingly.

Minerva didn’t speak to them. She wasn’t sure if there was anything to say.

\---

“We have to send some of our people back there.” Minerva managed not to tremble or shrink, but she was very much about to. “Those innocents are walking targets.”

Marth seemed to be in genuine pain at the thought, his hand digging into the fabric of his cloak. And Nyna seemed to consider it, her gaze swaying slightly to the side. But neither said a word.

“This is war.” It was Hardin who spoke. “I do see why you’d ask this, but we’re almost at that pass, expecting an assault of wyverns and possibly even dragons – we cannot afford to split our forces. We’ve left villages behind before, because we have to.”

Minerva bit her tongue. _This is different_ , she wanted to say. She could almost hear Michalis say it himself. _‘Am I really in the wrong for defending myself against an aggressor? Our people would be perfectly safe from bandits and pillagers if you just stayed away.’_

Maria looked so small, hugging herself into an unassuming ball of healer’s white and Macedon’s red, her eyes set on the tattered map. “Please, just... Just a few. It’s the least we could do, since we’re robbing them of their defenses, and Michalis doesn’t... I mean, _we_...”

“And then what, your highness?” Hardin interrupted her. “We send three soldiers to the harbor, three to each village, and by the end of the road we stand in front of an army with just a handful to our name.”

Maria lowered her gaze, hugging herself tighter. “They didn’t ask for this.”

“None ever do”, Hardin responded. “Your Highnesses, this hurts, I know it. I’d give my own life for my people’s safety any day, but here and now, more is at stake than each kingdom alone.”

Maria’s eyes found Minerva’s. Pleading. But once again, there was nothing she could say.

\---

Minerva’s throat pulsated as she walked, swishing in her ears as loud as the suffocated screams of the helplessness in her mind. She must have thoughts inside her head, but she couldn’t reach them, all of it was _outside_ of her, floating further and further away. Simply walking didn’t distract her enough, she had to do something, anything but listening to the flames inside her.

She all but pushed the first woodcutter she saw out of her position.

“I’ll take over”, she said.

The woodcutter pulled the axe closer to herself. “It’s fine, your highness. I only just began, and I’m handling it—“

“I’ll take over”, Minerva repeated, and she didn’t relent until the axe was handed to her, and she finally got to gruff a ‘ _thank you_ ’ and splinter wood until her shoulders cried.

Each stroke was both a relief and an ignition. Hardin’s damned reason, the refugee’s stares, the fishermen’s yells, the rain of hundreds of sky knights, Minerva’s incapability to make _anything_ better – all of it, cleaved beneath the dull axe instead of roaring outside her mind like a storm. The uneven slabs piled up along the sides.

It was dark, but if she stared dead ahead, the shapes of mountains larger than human understanding would still meet her. The League had marched halfway up the long slope up to the Gimon pass. The attack could come at any moment. And here she was, wasting her strength on a petty task.

But she put up another piece of wood to splinter, and then another. Her thoughts returned to a realm she could understand, but even as comprehensive words, they were a violent onslaught.

 _Make a plan_ , they fumed. _Do better, do better—_

“Minerva.”

She didn’t feel anything at the sound of her name. Not even from _her_. All Minerva felt was the constant anger, growing with each thrum of the axe.

“Minerva, what are you doing?”

Minerva stilled the axe for a moment just to look at her. “What’s it look like?” she snarled, then returned to her monotone task, her breath heavy.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” Palla’s voice came closer. “Stop, take a break.”

Minerva didn’t falter in the least. Iron dug into wood, hooked it and lifted it and smashed it down, until it splintered against the stump beneath.

“Minerva!” Palla’s tone was stern, now. “ _Take. A. Break!_ ”

Minerva halted her axe, let it hover over her shoulder. Only for a moment.

“That’s not for you to decide!” she snapped back, and returned to the only thing that made sense to her. Her heavy breaths, burning shoulders and ability to crush things.

Palla didn’t speak again. Minerva wasn’t sure she was still there. She didn’t dare look, and that did nothing to stifle the chaos of her fury. _Do better! Do better!_

Her entire left side stung as if she’d been stabbed. She couldn’t lift the axe again, so she let it slide out of her hands, tip over with its blade still buried in a lump of wood. She bent down to reach for the chips that were spread out all around the stump, but she could barely stretch her arms either.

She leaned her forehead against the stump. Then she finally glanced to the side.

Palla stood with her arms crossed, her eyes sparking like flint on rocks. Her braid was a mess, her head drooping despite her tense shoulders. She’d been scouting with Caeda during council, since Catria and Est were too tired after a full night in the air. And now it was their turn, again. Minerva was draining herself and everyone she loved into exhaustion.

 _It’s your fault_ , Minerva’s mind crammed into the front of her thoughts. _It’s your fault, you should be cleverer, you should be his equal and know his thoughts, you shouldn’t be so naïve, thinking you’d make anything better like this—_

She’d kept her eyes on Palla, and Palla didn’t look away either. Her arms were still crossed, her shoulders high and tense.

“I’m sorry”, Minerva mumbled. “For yelling.”

Palla didn’t move, but her gaze swayed a little. “Scouting went fine”, she said. Her not responding pained Minerva more than burning shoulders ever could.

“Council didn’t”, Minerva answered, and through sheer force of will, she pushed the axe off the stump. “You must be tired. Please. Sit if you like.”

“No, thank you. Taking breaks isn’t something we do, apparently.”

Minerva’s heart twisted inside her chest, squeezing it dry from the fast-paced fury. All that remained was hurt and silence. And a desperate cry for things to be _normal_ , so much so she almost missed the past.

“I’m sorry”, she repeated. She sat slumped and pathetic, the list of her regrets unfurling in her mind and she was unable to stop it.

A light drew her attention. It walked past in the edge of her vision, soft green hair that shone beside a winged creature.

Tiki. Her head hanging, too, as she held Bantu’s hand. The small Divine dragon had not yet recovered from her transformation by the border, struggling to stand up and walk normally. Not even the constant ray of joy would smile, now.

The chips of wood crunched beneath Palla as she crouched down, and tilted onto the pile of wood with plenty of noise and a low gasp. Minerva’s arm instinctively reached out, ready to catch her if she tipped over. Even though that hurt, too.

“I’m sorry too.” Palla straightened, massaging her temples. “I’m so… exhausted. I barely recognize myself.”

“I’ll take your next scouting”, Minerva immediately offered, but Palla only shook her head.

“You can hardly lift your arms, dear.”

 _Dear_. Tears stung behind Minerva’s eyes, and leaned away from the stump. Her eyes followed the slowly progressing figure of Tiki as she radiated her humble light.

“I…” It didn’t feel right to apologize again, but those were the only words echoing in her mind.

Palla moved her fingers from her temples and rubbed her eyes instead. “It is… Hard. I have to admit that each time I fly east and see the twin mountains of my home… I doubt myself so.” She leaned on the stump too and sighed. “Like I’m not doing enough.”

“Palla…” Minerva clenched her fists. “You do… plenty. More than I. All I can do is… Descend into whatever this is. I can barely think.”

Palla closed her eyes. Her eyelids were dark. “Council didn’t go well, you said? How so?”

“The Macedonans here only suffer in our wake. And we cannot spare the soldiers to escort them to the safe havens they try to reach. I can’t stand it, not... that. I was ready for killing his soldiers, but _this_... I never considered just how much disorder we’d bring to the people that just want to live.” Minerva extended her fingers again, her palms smarting as she stretched them. “I’ve just made this worse.”

 “I’ve seen too many pillagers too. They’re like pests. If you told me to, I wouldn’t hesitate to go after them.” Palla frowned, opened her eyes with the hint of her usual determination. “And I can name a few others who would, too. You speak of what the _council_ can and cannot do… But some of us are here to follow you, and no one else. A few of us don't even count as soldiers to the other leaders.”

The gears in Minerva’s mind turned slowly, slowly. “You’re saying I should use Rucke and his squad?”

Palla's face wrinkled with a short cringe. “No, I'm not sure what to make of him, yet. I… I meant the… The Queen’s Guard.”

“So... You suggest I’d go behind the council’s back with this?”

“I suggest you do with _your_ soldiers what you deem best for _your_ kingdom. You’re not taking anything from the League’s resources, seeing as the new recruits aren’t that trusted to fight in the next battle anyway. Just have another little talk with them.”

The splinters of wood before Minerva’s eyes became blurry, her focus turning inward with new clarity. Her messy thoughts slowly unravelled, bringing some threads together into answers. Not all, but a few. Enough.

“That”, she said with a small smile at Palla. “That, I think I can do.”


End file.
